The Stars In Thy Care
by volley
Summary: Stranded on a planet, Trip and Malcolm wait trustfully for their Captain to rescue them. Little do they know that time is running out.
1. Chapter 1

This story got out of hand. I had imagined a one-shot vignette and it has become a multiple chapter thing. Well, I hope you'll forgive me… ;-)

I couldn't find a decent title for it, so Roaring Mice came to my rescue with this wonderful suggestion. It's a quote from Sir Charles Georges Douglas Roberts's poem _Domine, cui sunt Pleiades curae:_

_Father, who keepest / The Stars in Thy care/ Me, too, Thy little one/ Childish in prayer/ Keep, as Thou keepest / The soft night through / Thy long, white lilies / Asleep in Thy dew_

Gabi 2305 and Roaring Mice were my beta readers, and as usual they improved my story tremendously. Thank you!

Lost and found, set around the end of Season Two.

§ 1 §

"Useless!"

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Trip wiped the back of his hand on his brow while he cast a look of pure hatred to the mess of circuitry in front of him. He had spent the past hour trying to get this transceiver to work, but now he threw a hand up in the air. Not even bloody MacGyver could fix it.

_Bloody_? He chuckled softly. Someone was definitely having a bad influence on him.

"Any progress?"

Trip jumped, and had to reach out to one of the Shuttlepod's chairs to steady himself. He turned and looked through the open hatch at the very man, his only companion in this adv... _mis_adventure.

During an away mission to test some upgrades in Shuttlepod One, a sudden and mysterious energy burst had damaged their instruments and they had had to make an emergency landing on a planet, fortunately one with a breathable atmosphere. Now the Shuttlepod's systems had given out on them for good.

"Do you _hafta_ slither up on people?"

"I did no such thing," Malcolm replied in his clipped accent, matching it with one of his more aristocratic frowns. "I can't be held responsible if you are not aware of what goes on around you, _Sir_." He grinned. "Slither! You make me sound like a bloody snake."

"Slither, creep, worm, tiptoe… pick your _bloody _choice. Just don't do it any more."

The British swearword had the effect of making Malcolm's mouth curve into a wider smile. "Nice to see you're expanding your vocabulary," he quipped.

"Dialects can be fun," Trip drawled flatly, throwing the soldering iron into the open tool-box. He expected a biting retort but Malcolm ignored the ribbing. He was too busy following Trip's every movement as he stepped out of the pod.

"Does this mean the transceiver is a lost cause?" Malcolm asked with a grimace.

"No."

It was only a half truth, for Trip was pretty sure the transceiver _was _a lost cause, but he wasn't ready to admit it yet. Walking past his friend, he didn't spare the frowning man a glance.

"It means I'm taking a toilet break. Ah - and Malcolm…" Trip turned to put a restraining hand on the Lieutenant's chest. "I think it's safe enough to water the local flora without a bodyguard."

"What about the local fauna?" Malcolm challenged him, raising eyebrows à-la-T'Pol.

Trip mirrored his expression. "I'm not plannin' to water any, unless they happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong moment."

Malcolm chuckled, shaking his head. "Scream if you need me."

* * *

"Ensign?" Archer prompted his Communications Officer, rising from the Captain's Chair and approaching Hoshi's station.

Hoshi turned to him, looking concerned. "Nothing, Sir," she said, and her brow furrowed slightly.

"Are we at least sure they landed on that planet?" Archer asked tautly.

It was T'Pol who replied. "We haven't detected any explosions, and there is no debris within scanning range, Captain," she said, ever the voice of reason. "It is…"

"_Logical_ to assume they did," Archer concluded for her, wincing: reassuring as the words may be, logic frustrated him when his emotions were in turmoil. "What went wrong? And why can't we locate them?"

The Vulcan Officer tilted her head gracefully. "We registered a strong and inexplicable energy burst in the Shuttlepod's area of space: it is likely it was responsible for the problems Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed encountered. As for your second question, something is interfering with our scanners. I am trying to get past it." A slight note of something suspiciously akin to frustration entered her voice.

Archer pinned her with his gaze, painfully aware of the concern that was clear in it. He couldn't help his human nature from coming through when his crew were in trouble. "Keep working at it," he said. Then, turning away, he headed for his ready room.

* * *

There was a rustling sound and Trip stretched his neck to peek out of the open hatch. Malcolm was emerging from the dense vegetation with an armful of something – it vaguely looked like dry wood – which he released to the ground with a huff.

"Have you activated the emergency beacon?" Malcolm panted out, unbuttoning the top of his black undershirt as he tried to catch his laboured breath. Gravity on this planet was a bit higher than on Earth, making any kind of physical exertion more tiring than what a human would be used to.

Trip leaned with a shoulder against the hatch and jerked his chin in the direction of the pile at Malcolm's feet. "What's that for?"

"Hopefully a fire, provided it behaves like its Earth equivalent, as my scanner seems to indicate," Malcolm replied, adding wryly, "If our scanners _are_ working properly, of which I'm not totally convinced. We know the planet is uninhabited, but it's unlikely that it supports no animal life whatsoever, as this instrument would have me believe."

Trip took out his own scanner and checked the readings, moving it in a semicircle. "Hmm. You're right."

Malcolm rubbed his hands clean; then wiped a sleeve across his sweaty brow and winced. "Soon it will be dark. And likely colder. And our shuttlepod is dead. A fire might not be a bad idea."

Trip groaned. "Hell, I've been so busy tryin' to get somethin' – _anythin'_ – to work, that I forgot about that little detail. That damned energy burst fried all of our systems."

"So, the beacon…?"

"It's activated all right, but I have my doubts Enterprise can pick it up. They'd've been here already. There must be some kind of interference, and it seems to be scramblin' our scanners."

Arms crossed over his chest, Malcolm considered the words for a moment. "Well, hope for the best, prepare for the worst," he muttered philosophically. "I'll get some more of this --" he waved a hand at the wood-like chunks he had collected, "_Stuff_."

"Don't wander too far," Trip shouted, as he watched him disappear again through the weird-looking foliage.

"Yes, mother," Malcolm's fading voice replied.

* * *

Hoshi pressed her earpiece more firmly into her ear and closed her eyes to concentrate even better, but all she heard was white noise. She had been hoping to pick up a transmission from Shuttlepod One for hours now, and she was getting tired and beginning to feel her body ache with the accumulated tension. She knew Trip and Malcolm were competent officers; they had been in their fair share of misadventures together and always come out of them, but still… these were her friends, and this protracted silence had caused a feeling of despair to creep up on her.

_Get a grip_, she told herself angrily. _Malcolm will take good care of Trip. And Trip of Malcolm_.

She wasn't the only one this badly on edge either, she mulled, looking around. After bringing Enterprise in orbit of the planet where Shuttlepod One was supposed to have landed, Travis had refused to go off duty even if there was no piloting for him to do at the moment. He sat at the helm with an uncharacteristically grim expression on his face, looking like he was itching to do something to help.

T'Pol had been totally focussed - the way only a Vulcan could - trying to get the ship's scanning equipment to get past the interference and give them some readings. She might keep her emotions off her face, but Hoshi could see from subtle hints in her body language that she was becoming concerned as well.

The Captain had burrowed in his ready room and not emerged since. He had, however, already summoned T'Pol twice, and that alone spoke of how anxious he was for some breakthrough.

"Archer to T'Pol."

Make that three times.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

§ 2 §

"Missin' your boy scout days?" Trip asked with a soft chuckle as he approached the newly-built fire.

In the flickering light Malcolm's features were more difficult to read than usual, but he definitely seemed lost in his own world. Trip watched him re-emerge and shoot him a look.

"Not quite," Malcolm replied in a throaty voice from the flat rock he was sitting on. It was just the right height and was conveniently shaped more or less like a bench.

Throwing him a thermo blanket, Trip wrapped one around his own shoulders as he sank down beside him.

As expected, darkness had brought the temperature down; not dangerously so, but still enough to make one chilly. Malcolm had kindled the fire. He might not have rubbed any sticks together to do so, but he had definitely looked as if he was enjoying the task: hence Trip's question.

The flames were hypnotising, their crackling sound lulling. Trip's mind began to drift off but Malcolm's voice brought it back to the present. "I didn't really have all that much fun as a boy scout," he said quietly, throwing another piece of wood into the fire. Sparks went flying off.

Tearing his gaze away from them, Trip focused on his colleague. "I thought you had, the way you compared badges with the Capt'n," he commented, a smile in his voice. All that it did was to earn him a fleeting and furtive glance.

"It was one of those things in which I never had any say," Malcolm offered after a moment. "I was to go through with it - full stop. And... Well, my father always had a way of charging anything that had to do with me with such heavy expectations..."

He pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders, seemingly more to protect himself from Trip's clearly piqued curiosity than from the cold, and fell silent.

Averting his gaze, Trip thought of how different their experiences had been growing up. Even knowing as little as he did of Malcolm's past, he could tell. They might have been from two different planets. It was weird in a way that coming from such diverse backgrounds, here they were, serving on the same starship, friends in the middle of the universe.

Trip stretched. It had been some day and he was beginning to feel weary, from accumulated nervous tension as much as from fatigue. "Damn, but I'm done in!" he grunted. He let himself slide to the ground and leaned with his back against the rock, drawing his knees up to his chest and cocooning inside the blanket.

"Go ahead and sleep," Malcolm suggested. "I can take first watch."

"Watch? You think that's necessary? The planet is uninhabited, and the only fauna I've spotted so far was a funny-lookin' worm that would make Phlox's joy."

Silence met his words and Trip twisted to cast a look at his friend: the glare in his gaze was quite eloquent, but Malcolm must have thought it was lost in the darkness because for good measure he added flatly, "Let me do my job, Commander. Besides, we have determined our scanners cannot quite be relied upon."

Trip heaved a resigned sigh. "Ok. But you let me take first watch. After all the scoutin' and collectin' wood you did, and in this gravity, you must be drained."

"No more than after a good workout. I'll be fine."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot."

Malcolm made a frustrated sound. "Can't I ever say the word 'fine' without people making funny comments?"

"Nope."

"Grand."

Only the crackling fire could be heard, and when silence fell again Trip's eyes were drawn to the clear, starry sky. "Isn't it a beautiful night?" he wondered aloud. "Now that it's too dark to see those creepy plants, it almost feels like we're on Earth."

Malcolm looked up. "It does indeed."

* * *

Archer paced his ready room. Hours had passed since they had last heard from Trip and Malcolm, and he was experiencing that gut-wrenching feeling that he knew so well and for some reason often associated with his third- and fourth-in-command, especially when the two were on an away mission together; a feeling only made worse when they were on Shuttlepod One.

He made an effort to clamp down on it. _T'Pol said there were no explosions_, he repeated to himself once again. _Trip is a competent pilot. They must have landed on the planet._ But there was still that nasty voice in the back of his mind suggesting that the landing might have been a rough one, and the two officers might be injured and running out of time.

_I'll be damned if I'll let the two of them out together again_, he silently cursed.

The door chimed and he turned to it as he called, "Enter." T'Pol appeared. She took a graceful step inside and let the door slide shut.

"Captain, we have detected more of those energy bursts," she said, raising her eyebrows. A rare display of emotion flitted across her features. "They are getting stronger and closer."

Archer's brow furrowed. "Is that bad?" he asked outright.

Latching her hands behind her back, T'Pol held his gaze for a moment before replying with quiet urgency, "Not for Enterprise. But if they enter the planet's atmosphere they are potentially dangerous: they are strong enough to have devastating effects on any life forms there."

* * *

"When I was a child… out on those scout trips," Malcolm said quietly, "I often lay awake into the late hours of the night gazing at the stars."

Trip smiled to himself. When Malcolm forgot to be Lieutenant Reed – which wasn't very often and never happened for very long – he became intriguing company. Only he could sound both eager to show you something of his cagey self and still reluctant to do so.

"And plannin' to become an officer on a starship?"

Trip hadn't expected a serious answer; obviously he couldn't imagine that a – what – nine- or ten-year-old on a camping trip would be planning his future. This, however, was Malcolm.

"Not at that point, no," he replied dutifully, without any hint of having detected the playful mode. "Just… thinking."

"About what?" What would small Malcolm think of? How to blow up the camp's…

"Different things."

Trip twisted his head to look at him, but Malcolm's attention was riveted on the fire. Firmly so.

"For example?"

"For example what stars have represented in the lives of people, throughout the centuries."

"On a camping trip?" Trip blurted out in surprise. Neither could he imagine a nine- or ten-year-old on an outing with friends contemplating such deep matters.

Suddenly his mind conjured up the picture of a dark-haired boy lying awake and away from the group, intently gazing with eyes that were older than his age at the sky above him. Yup: no roasting marshmallows or devising ways to evade adult supervision and go take a midnight dip for little Malcolm Reed: he _would_ have spent his evenings musing about things like the meaning of stars in history.

"Sorry, go on," Trip mumbled, becoming aware of Malcolm's uneasy silence.

"Not a problem," Malcolm said quietly, with a tight twitch of the mouth. "In some ways I wasn't your typical lad," he added, as if he had read Trip's thoughts. He pushed to his feet, mumbling, "I'll get some water." He headed for the shuttlepod.

Alone in the semi-darkness, Trip cursed his clumsiness. He had a real talent for making this man clam up; not that it took much, mind you.

Before long Malcolm reappeared with two canteens. He sat down on the rock again and handed one to Trip, who accepted it with a grateful nod.

"Ancient people thought that the stars shaped their fates," Malcolm went on unexpectedly, as if the awkward moment before had not happened at all. "Sailors used them for direction. Stars spoke of unfathomable vastness, of mystery, of the divine." He poked the fire with a stick; then threw it in the flames. "We may have scientific knowledge now, but..." With a soft laugh he concluded, "Looking at the sky these days is definitely less romantic." He took a swig.

Trip grinned. "I didn't know of your romantic soul," he commented. He looked up just in time to see a hint of amusement cross his friend's features.

"It's in the genes," Malcolm said, amending with a shrug, "At least in some of them." An enigmatic smile appeared on his face. "I'll let you know that while the first man was about to set foot on the moon, a man named Reed left family and friends glued to the TV screen to go outside, stick his nose up in the air and look at the real thing, thinking dejectedly that after that day the silver disk would no longer be the same romantic icon."

Trip's grin grew wider. "Are ya _serious_?"

"Incredible, isn't it? Not something my father would advertise, but I managed to dig it out."

"Ah – well, what I mean is, it sounds like a strange thing for _anybody_ to do…"

"All the more so for a Reed."

Trip wasn't sure if that had been meant as a sarcastic comment, and twisted again to see if he could read his friend's expression, but Malcolm spoke again, his tone suddenly lighter.

"Did you know that in the Middle Ages people thought that whatever was lost ended up on the moon?"

Trip snorted. "Perhaps that's where the Capt'n is lookin' for us."

* * *

"The Commander and Lieutenant were somewhat protected by the Shuttlepod's hull and were only hit by one energy burst," Phlox, who had joined Archer and T'Pol in the ready room, was explaining, "So long as their landing was secure, they should be fine. But if they were to experience those bursts of energy without the protection of the shuttle, they could suffer neurological damage."

"_Could_?" Archer asked, holding on to a thread of hope. He sought the Denobulan Doctor's blue eyes, and he could tell right away that the answer would not be comforting.

"It would depend on how closely and how long they are exposed, Captain," Phlox said, jerking his chin back in that characteristic way of his. "The longer the exposure, the graver the consequences. Enough time and they could very well suffer permanent damage. And unfortunately I cannot determine exactly how much time _enough time _is."

Archer felt his muscles clench. He shot T'Pol a worried look. "Any progress in locating their pod?" he asked, still pacing and ducking his head rhythmically under the bulkheads.

"Our scanners are not reading anything below the planet's thermosphere, Captain," the Vulcan Officer replied. She crossed her arms over her chest in a gesture that reminded him of Malcolm when he got defensive. "I am afraid I am still unable to get past the interference."

"We can't just sit on our hands," Archer ranted. "I have two men, two… senior officers on that damn planet." _Two_ _friends_, he had wanted to say, although he had no doubt T'Pol understood and shared the feeling. "We've got to find them before it's too late."

He stopped and turned abruptly. "Is there a way to reinforce Shuttlepod Two, so its systems won't be damaged by those bursts?"

T'Pol looked at him inquisitively.

"Is there?" Archer insisted.

"I believe so."

"Then have it done. I'll go down with Travis," he said firmly. "Perhaps if we enter the planet's atmosphere we'll be able to get _some_ readings and find our people."

T'Pol's eyebrows shot up. "Captain, this planet is two and a half times the size of Earth. Even if your scanners worked, it could take you days to find the Commander and Lieutenant."

"At least I'll be doing _something_!" Archer burst out. Taking a calming breath, he added levelly, "Do you have a better suggestion, Subcommander?"

There was a moment of silence.

"I will analyse the data regarding Shuttlepod One's last known position and trajectory; perhaps I can determine the most likely area on the planet where Commander Tucker will have landed," T'Pol suggested. "That would limit your search."

"Get on it right away. And have Lieutenant Hess take care of the necessary modifications to Shuttlepod Two."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

§ 3 §

"Take exploring," Malcolm said, holding out his hands towards the fire to warm them. "We may call ourselves explorers, but it's not as if we're really taking such a plunge into the unknown. Not like in the past."

Trip had slowly slid down until he was lying flat on the ground. Shifting on his back, he tried to find a comfortable position. With an annoyed huff, he sat up to pick a couple of small rocks off the ground, which he flung with more force than necessary into the darkness.

Malcolm tilted his head. "Is the accommodation not to your liking?"

"The bed's a bit lumpy."

"I'll file a complaint with the tourist bureau."

Grunting, Trip lay back down. "Some of the things we came across have been a heck of a plunge into the unknown, if you ask me," he breathed out. "Like that box of pebbles on the Xyrillian ship."

There was a snort. "I must admit, Commander: _plunging_ your hands into it led you to some… unexpected _discoveries_."

"Very funny," Trip replied deadpan. He certainly could have done without discovering what being pregnant felt like.

Chuckling softly, Malcolm got up to throw a couple more chunks of wood into the fire. Then, finally giving in to his weariness, he found a spot beside Trip and lay down as well.

_What about standing watch_, _Lieutenant?_ Trip thought in amusement – although he wouldn't put it past Malcolm to be fully aware of what went on around them while lying on his back and deep in conversation.

"Seriously though," Malcolm continued in a pensive voice, pulling the blanket up to his chin. "Take… I don't know, Christopher Columbus, for example."

"What about him?"

"What about him!" Malcolm blew out a huff of disbelief. "The bloody man took three caravels – not very large vessels by any means, trust me – and sailed off, not knowing what he'd find."

"I thought he was pretty sure he'd find India."

"Yes, but it was only a theory. He set off on the strength of his beliefs. There were still some people around him who maintained that Earth was flat, you know; that the ships would… reach the edge and fall off."

"Yeah." Trip chuckled. "But he obviously didn't – think that."

Malcolm was silent for a moment. "All right, he didn't," he eventually conceded. "In fact sailors had long suspected - _known_ even that Earth was round; but it took a hell of a lot of courage anyway, to do what he did. Because he had no backup if things went awry. Which nearly happened. He had miscalculated distances, and the voyage was much longer than he had estimated." His voice dropped an octave. "Just imagine how those people must have felt, when food and water were running short, and there was still no land in sight, and they were in the middle of nowhere, beginning to lose hope, to lose faith…"

Trip could picture the faraway expression his friend's grey gaze would have right now. He turned to cast him a furtive glance.

"That's what I call an explorer," Malcolm murmured, eyes on the planet's full moon. "You and your own strength. No computer, no power, no way to contact anyone…"

"Ah - ya mean like us, here."

There was a pause.

"We have an emergency beacon," Malcolm said wryly.

"Which doesn't seem to have made any difference – d'you think we'll have to wait long till they find us?"

"Why, are you worried?"

"Worried?" Trip dismissed the thought with a shrug. "Nah. Might take a while but the Capt'n is gonna find us, sooner or later. Just a matter of time. He won't let us rot down here, that's for sure."

"Absolutely. Might as well relax and enjoy our stay."

Trip's jaw dropped open. "_Relax_? Are you feelin' ok, Lieutenant?"

* * *

Travis's stomach grumbled loudly: he hadn't left the bridge in hours and he was getting hungry. He shot an uncomfortable look around. Fortunately only Hoshi seemed to have noticed; she gave him a pale smile that didn't reach her eyes. T'Pol had undoubtedly heard the noise too – her hearing being what it was – but she was too concentrated on her calculations of Shuttlepod One's possible landing trajectories to pay any attention to it.

"Ensign, I believe your body requires some nourishment."

Or perhaps not…

"Go to the mess hall."

"I'm fine, Subcommander," Travis replied stubbornly.

"That was an order, Ensign," T'Pol said in her unflappable tone, glancing up from her console. She seemed to consider something for a moment; then added quietly, "It would not be advisable for you to remain on an empty stomach, in case the Captain should launch a rescue mission and require your assistance."

Travis's heart leapt at the not-so-subtle hint. Finally he might be given something useful to do. He jumped to his feet. "Yes, Ma'am," he replied with a wide grin. It earned him another brief, one-eyebrow-raised look from the Vulcan, and he self-consciously walked past her to the turbo lift, glad to disappear into it.

* * *

"Do you ever feel that livin' on a starship is somewhat limitin'?" Trip asked out of the blue, shaking Malcolm out of his thoughts.

They had made the wee hours of the morning, and Trip's drowsiness seemed to have vanished. Lying down side by side with their eyes lost in the myriad of stars above them, they had been rambling on, indeed like kids on a camping trip, at ease with each other and comfortable in the notion that their Captain would come for them, no matter what.

"What exactly do you mean?" Malcolm asked. He had half an idea where this might lead, but thought it would be better if Trip addressed the issue himself.

"Well, there are a lot of things one can't do on a starship."

"Like playing waterpolo?" Malcolm asked, tongue-in-cheek.

"Yeah, that too."

The tone had been serious, which, this being Trip, was puzzling.

Pushing up to a sitting position, Trip reached out to the pile of wood Malcolm had collected and threw another few chunks in the dwindling flames. "Good thing you thought about gettin' some of this stuff," he said. "It would've been damn cold without a fire."

"Survival training, Commander. Didn't you pay any attention when you took yours?" Malcolm saw Trip smirk at him and smiled back innocently, returning his gaze to the stars.

"Sure I did, _Lieutenant_," Trip grumbled, lying back down. "But if you didn't notice I wasn't exactly twiddlin' my thumbs all day. And thinkin' about our survival is more in your line of work."

"Well, then: so far I seem to have done a good job," Malcolm said smugly. "Although I must admit, landing us safely on this lovely planet with most systems dead and thrusters ready to give up their ghost was bloody impressive piloting. I suppose I owe you, this once."

"Ah! Then you're welcome – this once."

"Playin' waterpolo isn't the only thing the Capt'n is givin' up, in order to do what he's doin'," Trip murmured after a moment, returning to his previous train of thought.

Malcolm bit his lip; time to go for a direct approach. "Are you referring to the fact that he is likely never to start a family?" He felt Trip's eyes on him and turned to meet them. The man had surprise painted all over his face, but Malcolm found it surprising, rather, that Trip should be surprised. He ought to give him a few lessons on how to bury one's feelings deep inside.

"Yeah," Trip finally murmured. "It seems like a lot to give up."

Malcolm turned on his side to face his friend squarely. "It's a matter of choice, I suppose," he reasoned. "Of priorities. Even on Earth many people choose not to start a family." Studying Trip for a reaction, he added, "You don't have to live all your life on a starship, Trip. If you feel the desire to start a family you can ask to be transferred back to Earth."

"Bein' Chief Engineer on Enterprise is a dream come true," Trip replied with feeling. "I love my job, but… that fraternisation rule makes for a rather lonely life." He squirmed, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable, and Malcolm rolled on his back again, averting his eyes.

"I mean, there may be lots of ensigns and crewmen on Enterprise," Trip ranted, overcoming his awkwardness. "But... they don't leave us senior officers much choice, do they? Either alone or alone."

"Surely you must see why the rule is enforced," Malcolm said patiently. "There can be no romantic involvement between people of different rank. It could result in conflicting situations when orders must be issued."

"Yeah, yeah," Trip grumbled. "Still. It's not easy." He heaved a sigh. "For some people more than others, I suppose."

Malcolm felt a stab; then silently cursed his touchiness: why should he feel hurt by Trip's words? Why should he feel so vulnerable whenever feelings were an issue?

"Ah, I didn't mean to imply that… you know…" Trip blurted out, and Malcolm realised that he wasn't all that good at hiding things deep inside after all. Not with this man, at least.

"I know." Malcolm swallowed. Forcing a lighter tone, he enquired, "So: anyone in particular you would like to date?"

"Uhm – no," Trip stuttered back.

Trip's confusion made Malcolm smile. He turned on his side again and landed the man a light kick on the leg.

"Well, you seem to find plenty of consolation _off_ Enterprise, Commander."

"That's a blow below the belt, Malcolm."

"My kick or my comment?"

"What?"

Grinning widely, Malcolm wondered aloud, "Or perhaps it's the fraternisation rule that is a kick below the belt? An appropriate metaphor." He made sure the naughtiness would be clear in his voice, if not on his face due to the darkness.

"Malcolm!"

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

§ 4 §

Shuttlepod Two rocked slightly as it went through the planet's thermo barrier. A few moments later the flying became smooth again.

"One of the bursts that hit us up there almost damaged our propulsion system," Travis said, shaking his head. "Lieutenant Hess did a helluva good job… if you'll pardon the expression, Sir."

Archer could hardly be concerned with language at the moment. "She's a fine engineer," he murmured, his attention fully focussed on the instruments before him. Scanners were not totally blind like on Enterprise, but weren't exactly giving him much in the way of readings.

Expertly guided, Shuttlepod Two cruised down towards the planet's northern hemisphere, where T'Pol had calculated their missing Officers had most likely landed.

"Anything, Sir?"

Archer pursed his lips. "Readings are unclear and narrowly circumscribed," he replied tautly. "Damn, what is it with this planet? If they don't clear up it will take us days, weeks even, to scan the area. And Trip and Malcolm might not have that much time."

"Perhaps the energy bursts will not penetrate the planet's atmosphere, Captain," Travis said, in an obvious effort to be optimistic.

Archer heaved a concerned sigh. "Level off the pod and let's begin a grid search pattern."

"Aye, Sir."

* * *

"I'm hungry," Trip declared.

Malcolm snorted. "It's three a.m.," he said in the high-pitched voice that, in his range of nuances, was meant to convey disbelief/disapproval.

"So what? Can't a man get hungry at three a.m.?" Trip pushed up and got to his feet. "It takes a lot of energy to keep talkin'," he said innocently. "Be back right away."

Malcolm watched him disappear into the darkness, in the direction of their pod. A moment later they were sitting cross-legged, each munching on a nutrient bar.

"You made me sound like some sort of insatiable monster but you don't seem to have any objections to sinkin' your own teeth into some food," Trip grumbled.

"It would be impolite of me to let you eat alone," Malcolm replied with exaggerated propriety.

"Sure, sure," Trip mumbled around his mouthful.

Malcolm shook his head. He'd been given hell as a child for talking with his mouth full. "Let's not eat too much," he warned. "I suppose we ought to ration our supplies. We don't know how long we will be staying in this lovely resort."

He saw Trip swallow his mouthful and give him an askew glance. "Just when I thought you had developed a little optimism, not to mention a little faith in the Capt'n…"

"Come on, Trip," Malcolm said with a patient sigh. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know. But I'm still hopin' I'll get some of the pod's systems workin'. I haven't given up on them yet."

"I never doubted that."

Malcolm knew Trip liked a good challenge. Indeed, the only thing they probably had in common was a hefty amount of stubbornness. He really had no doubt that while they waited to be rescued his friend would not stop trying. And if anyone could do the miracle, that was him.

"When was the first time you fixed something?" he found himself asking.

Trip, who had finished eating and was stretching, stopped in mid-action and his mouth curved upwards. "You mean the first time I took somethin' apart?"

Malcolm studied Trip's impish expression. "All right," he replied, curious to hear the story.

"As a kid I destroyed quite a few things to look inside them, but the first thing I fixed was my mom's oven," he said without thinking twice. "She was gonna make pie and the damn thing wouldn't work." He shrugged. "Couldn't let that happen."

Malcolm tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "How old were you?"

"Six, seven… can't remember."

"Impressive."

Trip's brow shot up. "What I do remember is I got a second helpin' of pie."

"I'll say: a well-deserved reward."

Trip lay back down, and after a moment Malcolm followed suit. He could just picture the kind of child his friend must have been. Always in trouble because of his curious mind. He too had often been in trouble as a child, but mostly for other reasons. Mainly because he never seemed to…

"How about you?" Trip's voice interrupted his thoughts. "When was the first time you blew somethin' up?"

"Why should I have blown anything up?" Malcolm replied in mock outrage.

Trip snorted. "Because. I just know you did. Come on, out with it," he said in the tones of command.

Malcolm bit his lip. He had indeed. "I built a model cannon, using some tin," he admitted reluctantly.

"And?" There was anticipation in Trip's voice.

Drawing in a deep breath, Malcolm closed his eyes and a scene he had not thought of in years replayed in his mind.

"There were some old cartridges in the house, which had been used for hunting by some _revered_ ancestor. I stole a couple, opened them and got out the powder and pellets." Cracking his eyes open, Malcolm saw Trip watching him closely, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Well?"

"My weapons engineering wasn't very good at the time," Malcolm continued, with a lopsided smirk. "When I ignited the powder, the pellets weren't exactly propelled in the right direction: the explosion destroyed the cannon and I nearly ended up riddled with shots like a pheasant."

Trip's smile fell and his eyes grew wide. "Were you hurt?"

"A few pellets got embedded in my arms, but I was ok." With a soft, humourless laugh Malcolm added, "At least until my father came home, a couple of days later."

"Did he…"

"Oh, no," Malcolm hurried to say. "He just gave me a hell of a lecture." He felt a knot form in his stomach. In his life his father might have not dealt him more than a few slaps on the behind but… Before he could stop himself he added, "There are many ways to hurt a child."

"How old were you?" Trip asked after a moment, in a careful voice.

"Eight and a half."

Trip didn't enquire any further, and Malcolm was grateful for it. His friend was sensitive enough to have realised that more had been said than had been intended.

There was a silence.

"My father was to take me on a grand tour of the new ship he'd recently been given command of, that following week-end."

Why the hell was he telling Trip this? A moment before he'd felt he'd said too much and now… He briefly met his friend's eyes, and liked what he saw in them: not a morbid curiosity but a genuine desire to understand. That's what made it possible, if not easy, to open up to this man: the knowledge Trip might well be his friend but was intellectually honest. He wouldn't say things just to please him.

Malcolm went on. "I had looked forward to it, but… well, I was no longer keen, all bandaged up as I was," he said. He felt his muscles tense and tried to keep the edge out of his voice as he added, "Changing plans, however, was not something my father endorsed. Naturally everybody we met on and off board asked what had happened to me, so I was made a fool in front of the whole bloody Navy that day." Pursing his lips, he let out a mirthless huff. "More subtle than a beating, wouldn't you agree?"

Trip's face scrunched up. "You think your dad did that as a form of punishment? To humiliate you?"

It took a moment for Malcolm to answer. "It certainly felt like that at the time," he replied truthfully. "Although whenever I've thought back on that day I've wondered… I don't really know. It could well be he only wanted to teach me to face the consequences of my actions and not avoid things that are unpleasant."

His father had been a very strict parent, a military man even at home. But that, Malcolm had come to realise in much later years, had been his way to love him. With time Malcolm had begun to see things from a different perspective, and nowadays the only real grudge he still held against him was the fact that Stuart Reed had tried so hard to change him, in many ways. The man should have simply accepted the fact that his son was not exactly what he had wanted. He had made him feel so damn inadequate, almost rejected. It had hurt.

Trip's voice shook him out of his thoughts.

"If he did it to humiliate you, I think it was wrong," he said. "But all parents make mistakes, mostly meaning well. And I bet a lot of the good things about you come from your dad's teachings, Malcolm." He raised his eyebrows emphatically. "Can't say I've ever seen you chicken out of anything, no matter how dangerous or unpleasant…"

Malcolm opened his mouth to reply, but didn't really know what to say. He was still pondering Trip's words when the man spoke again.

"Blowing up a cannon! Good thing your engineerin' skills have improved some."

Malcolm felt his mood instantly lift. "Made a lovely explosion," he commented; and they shared a liberating chuckle.

* * *

"Perhaps if I lowered our altitude…" Mayweather suggested.

Archer smirked. "It will take us even longer to scan the area." He reached out and opened a channel to Enterprise. "Archer to the bridge." The voice that replied sounded very distant.

"Go ahead, Captain."

"I can barely read you, T'Pol. Can you see us on your instruments?"

"Negative. There is too much interference." T'Pol seemed to be carefully articulating her words. "Are you getting any readings from the planet?"

"Fuzzy and limited."

"Try varying your altitude, Captain. There might be a band where readings get clearer."

Travis half turned to cast a glance behind him.

Archer nodded a silent order. "Will do. Any news on those energy bursts?"

"They continue to move closer, Captain."

"How long before they might enter the planet's atmosphere?"

Static answered his question.

"Come in, Subcommander," Archer said almost angrily. That's all he needed, losing contact with Enterprise.

"Fi… to six hours …ost."

Archer grimaced. That wasn't much time for the job at hand.

"Take us a little lower, Travis," he said tautly, clenching his jaw.

"Aye, Sir." Eyes riveted on his instruments, Travis executed the order. "Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed should've activated the emergency beacon," he said hesitantly. "We'll pick it up sooner or later…"

"Well, it better be soon."

Archer bit his lip. The fact they had not picked up the beacon yet was probably due to the damn interference, but there was still a chance Trip and Malcolm might be injured and had been unable to activate it. He saw Travis glance at him over his shoulder.

"I'm sure they're fine, Captain," the helmsman said, as if he had read his thoughts. "We'll find them." But again Archer got the feeling Travis was almost trying to convince himself.

Straightening his shoulders, he focussed back on the indistinct readings on his console. "Let's concentrate on that search pattern again, Ensign. Almost time to turn about."

"Aye, Sir."

TBC

Any feedback will be well accepted... :-)


	5. Chapter 5

§ 5 §

Trip yawned.

There was a soft rustling sound through the leaves and Malcolm raised his head.

"What is it?" Trip asked.

"Probably nothing." Sitting up, Malcolm produced his scanner and focussed on the instrument, aware that Trip had done the same.

"I have nothin'."

Malcolm threw the blanket aside and stood up slowly, right hand going to the phase pistol at his hip. "Same here, but we know that doesn't mean much." He raised his gaze from the instrument to the darkness beyond their immediate surroundings. "It won't hurt to take a look around," he murmured.

"I'll go with you," Trip said, getting up too.

"Actually, Commander, I'd prefer if you stayed here." Malcolm took Trip by the arm and pulled him away from the light of the fire. "This is just a precautionary reconnaissance but, with all due respect, alone I'm less likely to make noise."

He had used Trip's rank to make his request official, and it obtained the desired effect. Trip didn't object, murmuring only 'be careful' as Malcolm slipped away.

Malcolm smirked. Why did everybody always feel it necessary to tell him to be careful? Of course he'd be careful. It was his bloody job to be careful. He went through the trees and stopped a moment to let his eyes get used to the darkness. He had a torch, but would rather not use it, just in case someone or something _was_ out there.

A forest at night was a sinister place; an alien one even more so. Trees were very tall on this planet, their leaves large and oblong. Now they were ominous shades pressing down on him. Good thing he wasn't a very impressionable person. Still, Malcolm felt a shiver run down his spine and his heart race.

Fully alert, he began his slow recce around their campsite. Only his soft footsteps could be heard. Whatever wildlife there may be, it was awfully silent and invisible, not only to their instruments. If interference of some kind was really preventing their emergency beacon from being picked up by Enterprise, and impairing their scanners, he'd better keep an eye out. He might find this planet's version of T-Rex behind the next tree.

The sound was back, a little louder, and Malcolm froze, adrenaline coursing through his system. Tense, he flattened against a tree trunk and raised his gaze: it had come from above him. A moment later he saw the leaves move and felt something on his face. He almost burst out laughing: a bloody breeze, that's all it was. Shaking his head, Malcolm stood still a few more moments, just to make sure. The breeze now was going through the leafy fronds with intermittent light gusts, producing the rustling noise they had heard.

Cold made him shiver and he hugged his shoulders; time to get back to the comforting warmth of their fire and of his thermal blanket.

The moment he emerged into the clearing Trip came back into view. "False alarm, huh?" he asked, hands on his hips.

"If you mean it was the breeze, then the answer is yes."

Trip bit his lip. "Let's hope it doesn't pick up."

"Or that it doesn't herald bad weather," Malcolm replied, studying the sky. It was still clear and starry.

A few minutes later they had both stretched out on the ground again. Malcolm burrowed into his blanket, happy to abandon himself to the weariness that comes after a rush of adrenaline. He closed his eyes. Trip, however, seemed to have no intention of sleeping.

"How many years between you and Madeline?"

"Hmm? Three."

"Same as between Elizabeth and me."

Malcolm heard Trip grunt and shift, seemingly unable to find a comfortable position.

"Lizzie was my favourite target as a kid. I had such a great time gettin' under her skin," he went on after he had settled down again. "I mean, I did nothing _terrible_, just -- ya know, the sort of things a bigger brother does to his younger sister."

"What things?" Malcolm slurred. He was beginning to feel bloody well knackered, but as long as it was Trip doing the talking…

There was a pause. "You mean to tell me you never bugged your sister?"

Malcolm could picture Trip's expression of innocent disbelief, but took a peek all the same. "Course I did," he mumbled, closing his eyes again. "But I'm curious if British sister-teasing is the same as American sister-teasing." On occasion he had been rather obnoxious to Madeline, but he suspected Trip might have been quite a bit more inventive in his waywardness.

"I'm pretty sure some of the things bigger brothers do to sisters are the same all over the world," Trip said, a smile in his voice.

"Are you planning to tell me or not?" Malcolm pressed, a little bit more awake. This promised to be interesting.

"Well, all the standard things: called her names, scared her a lot, locked my room so she couldn't come in – boy did she hate that – practised my tacklin' technique on her, and…"

"What?" Malcolm's eyes shot open and he looked at Trip in horror. "You _tackled_ your little sister?"

"In the yard, on the grass," Trip explained, as if that alone absolved him. "I'd never hurt her. Besides, she didn't mind – well, sort of… She always wanted to do everything I did!"

"Isn't that a prerogative of all younger sisters?" Malcolm commented under his breath.

"So, how 'bout you? What did you do to bug your sis?"

Trip pinned him with his gaze and Malcolm held it for a brief moment, before closing his eyes yet again to call back a period of his life he hadn't thought of in a long time.

"I didn't really bother Madeline all that much," he murmured, still trying to think.

"You just admitted you did, Malcolm," Trip reminded him deadpan.

Malcolm cleared his throat. "I called her names too, didn't want her around when I was with my friends and… took a perverse pleasure in not wanting to share some of my toys with her," he said. Unbidden, something came to his mind and he chuckled. "Once…" That had been quite wicked of him.

"What did you do?"

"She had this bunch of dolls, which she was obsessively fond of. I couldn't stand them, thought they were absolutely revolting. When Madeline played with them, which was every single day, she messed up our room completely and then I had to help clean it up. So one day I decided I'd had enough. I stole the whole lot, hid them in a safe place and left a ransom note on Maddie's bed."

"A ransom note?" Trip grinned. "What kind of ransom?"

"If she ever wanted to see her dolls in one piece again she was going to have to tidy up our room single-handedly for a week in a row."

Trip snorted. "Damn, Malcolm, that was evilly brilliant. So, what happened?"

"Before I could stop her, Madeline went screaming to our mother and I was ordered to give them back. I refused, so my mother stormed into our room, threatening to take my most prized possession hostage. That's when I learnt that crime doesn't pay."

Trip chuckled. "You yielded?"

"I had to."

"What was your most prized possession, anyway?"

"You'll never guess," Malcolm teased.

"A chemistry set?"

"No."

"Toy soldiers? Weapons?"

Malcolm shot him a look. "How stereotype. Not to mention outdated."

"A computer game – 'Age of Aliens'?"

"Good heavens! No."

"What, then?"

Malcolm saw Trip squirm with curiosity and felt like a kid again. "Sorry, Commander."

Trip's eyes went narrow. "You can't do that!"

"Do what?"

"Not tell me. I could order you."

Malcolm grinned. "That would definitely be abuse of power."

There was a stunned pause.

"How the hell did your sister ever stand you?"

* * *

Doctor Phlox covered the cage of his Pirythean bat for the night and cast a look around sickbay. Everything was neat and clean. No patients. At least for the moment, he thought, feeling his heart sink. Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed were regular guests, and their current predicament… This time the Captain had better find them and soon, because even his interspecies medical expertise would not help the two officers if those energy bursts hit them on the planet, he thought grimly.

With a sigh, he lowered the lights and let himself out, strolling towards the mess hall. He wasn't very hungry, but a cup of mint tea would be _agreeable_, as Subcommander T'Pol would put it. Perhaps it would help him relax.

The mess hall was almost empty; the hour was past his human colleagues' usual time for supper. Only a few crewmen were around, most of them off-duty, chatting and drinking a cup of something before retiring for the night. Smiling at a young woman who had greeted him on her way out of the room, Phlox went to the drink dispenser and ordered himself his cup of tea. He had only recently discovered this beverage, thanks to his innate curiosity and a late-night conversation with their Vulcan Officer, and had quickly developed a taste for it.

Turning around, he scanned the hall. Ah – Ensign Sato, all alone in the far corner and gazing into her cup.

She looked in need of company, so Phlox weaved his way around the tables to her. "Ensign," he greeted. "May I join you?"

"Please."

As he sat down, Phlox took in the dark circles under her eyes and spent expression. "My-oh-my, Hoshi, you look tired."

Hoshi sighed. "I'm exhausted," she admitted. "And concerned."

"About the Commander and Lieutenant, I imagine."

"It's been hours, and we haven't made the slightest bit of progress in finding them. What if they are hurt? They could be…"

Her voice faltered, and Phlox willed his innate optimism to the fore, hoping to lift the young woman's mood. "We simply don't know that," he said gently.

"But even if they're fine, those energy bursts…"

"It serves no purpose to think the worst, Hoshi," Phlox interrupted her, not allowing her to speak her fears aloud. "We are all concerned for Mr. Tucker and Mr. Reed, but worrying won't help them. We must remain strong."

His words were rewarded with a faint smile.

Hoshi sighed. "I'm sorry, Doctor." Straightening her shoulders, she drew a steadying breath. "I'd better go back to the bridge," she said, standing up.

"Eh, eh, Ensign…" Phlox stopped her, "Wouldn't it be better if you took a few hours of sleep? I'm sure whoever is manning communications would call you if anything new came up, hmm?"

Hoshi sagged back onto her chair. "It wouldn't feel right to be away from the bridge while…" She bit her lip. "Trip and Malcolm are friends; I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, not knowing if they'll be ok."

"Collapsing at your station is not going to help them either," Phlox reminded her gently. But Hoshi's face was so distraught that he didn't have the heart to insist - just yet. "All right. But no more than a couple of hours, Ensign," he conceded.

Hoshi pushed to her feet. "Yes, Doc," she said with a smirk.

As he watched her leave, Phlox mulled that if he wanted to make sure she rested, in two hours' time he would no doubt have to go and drag her away from her console.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

§ 6 §

There was a louder snore as Trip turned on his side. Malcolm rolled his eyes and almost gave in to the desire to shake the sleeping man. But finally Trip's breathing evened out, dropping to a soft rhythm.

The night on this planet was quite a bit longer than on Earth, and there was no sign of dawn yet. Trip had crossed the line between holding a quiet conversation and drifting off a couple of hours before.

"Don't ya think we oughtta worry?" he had drawled tiredly. "Ya know, just a little? After all, we're stranded on a planet, no way to contact the ship, and our pod is dead."

"I only think we ought to think that we ought to worry," Malcolm had mumbled back, weariness blunting his own accent. His words had made no sense to his own ears, and he had not been able to blame Trip when, as expected, the man had chuckled and accused him of sounding drunk.

"I also think we have gone over this already and decided there is nothing to worry," Malcolm had slurred on. But Trip had not answered. A moment later his breathing had become deep and even, and Malcolm had realised his friend had fallen asleep.

Fighting his own fatigue Malcolm had sat up again and leant against the rock, well aware of the fact that if he remained horizontal, without a conversation going, the sound of the fire would lull him to sleep in no time at all.

Shaking out of his reverie, Malcolm yawned and rubbed his eyes. Well, he may not be worried – yet – but that didn't mean he'd let his guard lower; he was determined to keep watch. Keep them safe till the Captain came for them.

He'd give Trip another hour before waking him up. Or perhaps he'd let him rest until morning. After all, knowing the man, he'd want to work all day trying to fix the pod's systems, while he himself had little to do besides collecting wood. He could always catch a little sleep during the day.

Losing his battle to another yawn, Malcolm rubbed a weary hand across his eyes. Trip's sleep allowance would ultimately depend on how long he'd be able to keep his own eyes open. He pulled the blanket more tightly around him. It was colder now.

His eyelids drooped closed and immediately his head lolled. Blinking, he jerked it back up. _Bloody hell, Lieutenant, stay awake! _

Maybe he could gaze at the stars and ponder some profound matter like in the old days, he thought with a wry smile, shifting position slightly and leaning his head back against the rock. Who would have thought that, stranded on an alien planet, he'd get such a trip down memory lane… All Trip's fault.

* * *

"T'Pol to Captain Archer."

Perched on the Captain's chair, T'Pol turned to the Communication Officer, only to see the young linguist's brow crease. "The channel is open, Subcommander," Hoshi murmured.

"Come in, Captain."

Suppressing a sigh, T'Pol got up and went to check the science console, leaning over the shoulder of the crewman manning it. Still nothing. Still no way of knowing where the Captain and Mayweather were, or Tucker and Reed.

All she could read on her instruments were those threatening bursts of energy, still en route towards the planet. In a couple of hours they could very likely cross the thermo barrier. And there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

T'Pol felt something very close to anxiety grip her and was reminded that because of this emergency it had been a long time since she had last meditated. The tension of the people on the bridge was beginning to influence her.

Straightening up, she closed her eyes briefly. "Ensign, I'll be in the Captain's ready room," she told Hoshi. "You have the bridge."

The look in Hoshi's eyes, as she nodded her 'understood', was deeply troubled, and for a moment T'Pol wondered if she shouldn't ask her to join her. But this was hardly the moment to introduce someone to the complex art of meditation.

* * *

It was so bloody cold. Malcolm shivered.

Madeline must have opened their window, for he could hear the wind rustling through the leaves of the oak tree outside. What was she thinking? That it was summer already?

And the fire must have died out.

_Fire_?

Malcolm's eyes shot open. The planet. He raised his head a bit too abruptly and pain flared in his neck, making him groan.

Damn him! He'd fallen asleep like a sodding recruit. How long had he slept?

Another shiver ran through him. The fire _had_ died out. And the breeze had picked up: now it was a light wind. Not only that, but he could see lightning far in the distance, where it was just beginning to dawn. Well, something akin to lightning: flashes of colourful light split the sky.

Drawing the blanket closer around his frozen body, Malcolm sat straighter and watched in mixed concern and fascination for a few minutes, while he rubbed his neck to work out the pain of having fallen asleep in an awkward position. Eventually he felt he could safely move his head again without risking snapping his neck in two, and slowly turned to check on Trip. It was still fairly dark without a fire, but he could make out his friend's form and hear his deep breathing: the man was sleeping like an angel, buried under the thermo blanket.

With a sigh, Malcolm returned to focus on himself. His right leg had gone numb; he needed to get his circulation going again. Slowly, he began to push to his feet, fighting another grunt of discomfort as pins and needles attacked his unfeeling limb. Bloody hell, he definitely preferred his bunk to sleeping around a campfire.

As he was rubbing some warmth into his arms, all weight on one foot, his stomach started to protest. Not that he hadn't expected it; it was something he had got used to already: be it the middle of the night or his usual wake-up time, whenever he got up after a few hours of sleep his body took it as a sign that it was time for breakfast.

He took a step, but his right leg betrayed him and he stumbled. As he very nearly collapsed to the ground, a string of muttered curses escaped his lips. Trip stirred, rolling onto his back.

"Malcolm?" he croaked out.

"Morning, Commander," Malcolm replied through clenched teeth.

Trip rubbed his eyes and sat up slowly. "Damn, I'm sorry, I must have fallen asleep," he mumbled as he looked up. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

Malcolm smirked. "I was going to, but I – uhm – fell asleep myself."

"Ah."

There was a pause, and Malcolm was grateful Trip didn't make any sarcastic comments. He wasn't in the mood.

"How long was I out?"

Absently rubbing his leg, Malcolm made a fast calculation. "I'd say four to five hours."

Trip's head snapped back to him. "That much? How about you, how much rest did you get?"

"More than enough," Malcolm replied wryly as he took a couple of hobbling steps towards the forest, "Considering the aches and pains I got from falling asleep in the wrong position."

Trip chuckled. "Hey, where are you goin'?"

"To water the flora. And then to get us some breakfast. I'm starving."

When he returned with a couple of ration packs, Trip was watching the lights in the distance.

"What the hell do you suppose that means?" Trip wondered, shooting him a brief look.

Malcolm pursed his lips. "I don't know, but if truth be told I don't like it." His voice had gone deep with concern.

"Some sort of energy discharge," Trip commented. Hands on his hips, he added thoughtfully, "We might be in for a rough ride if it heads this way."

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it," Malcolm said, handing him a ration pack. "Just hope that it will move off. But should it come closer we ought to take shelter inside the pod."

* * *

Travis considered himself an optimistic person. He wasn't, as a rule, given to despair. However, a feeling of hopelessness had been slowly growing and there was nothing he could do to quench it.

They had been searching for Shuttlepod One for close to five hours, and time was running short. The interference had made their going much too slow, and they had scanned only a third of the area assigned to them by T'Pol. To add to their troubles, they had lost contact with Enterprise. But the most worrisome thing was that they could now begin to see flashes of that mysterious energy crossing the planet's sky.

"Travis, let's try varying our altitude again. Take us up."

Archer's voice was hoarse.

"Aye, Sir."

Glancing over his shoulder, Travis saw the concern, the near-suffering on his Captain's face. Archer was doing his best to appear strong, but Travis could tell how deeply torn his C.O. was over his inability to rescue his people. This was a man who loved his crew and wouldn't think twice of risking his own life to keep them safe. Like that time in the Romulan minefield. Or on that automated repair station.

Well, after almost two years of mission it was normal that, being the small community they were, they had become close to each other. They hadn't lost anyone yet, but the day that would happen it would be felt very deeply by all of them. Travis bit his lip. He could not think of Enterprise without the warm personality of Commander Tucker; or without the quiet professionalism of Lieutenant Reed.

Archer's voice suddenly cut into his grim thoughts. There was urgency in it.

"Hold this altitude, Travis. Our readings seem to be getting clearer."

A silence heavy with expectation fell. It wasn't long before Travis could bear no more of it. "Sir?" he asked in earnest.

"Readings are definitely clearer and wider-range," Archer replied. "Come on," he muttered under his breath, "Where is that damn beacon?"

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

§ 7 §

Leaning on outstretched arms on the piloting console, Trip closed his eyes and let his head fall between his shoulders. He was having difficulty concentrating, and the job at hand definitely required some focus. Perhaps they had stayed up too late, he and Malcolm, the night before, forgetting that in their present situation they had to remain clear-headed and alert. But he had enjoyed their conversation, the comfortable friendship they sometimes managed to share. It wasn't every day Malcolm was in the mood for chatting.

Malcolm had tried to give him a hand. He'd patiently handed him tools, but half an hour ago he'd suddenly got up and told him he needed to stretch his legs. Trip took a deep breath. Perhaps a break would do him good. After all he'd been going at it for hours on end.

Stepping out of the shuttlepod, he caught sight of Malcolm: he was standing near the extinguished fire, with his back to him; seemingly finding something in the trees deeply fascinating.

"Studyin' which flora is in need of more water?" he asked tiredly. Malcolm didn't respond: unlike himself at the moment, the man didn't seem to have a problem focussing.

"At least we aren't riskin' a diplomatic incident, like that time with Porthos," Trip continued, approaching him.

"Hello, Tucker to Reed, can you read me?"

Trip's brow creased, more puzzled with every meter gained.

"Malcolm?"

With a few last hesitant steps Trip was beside him and reached out to touch Malcolm's arm.

"Hey…"

Panic swelled within him when Malcolm didn't react: he was immobile, seemingly lost to the world.

"Malcolm!"

Trip grabbed both of Malcolm's shoulders and shook him with a force born out of deep worry. It gave its results: Malcolm blinked a few times and slowly focussed on Trip's face, looking surprised to see him there. "What…?" he breathed out, his grey eyes dark like the clouds in the sky.

"Are you ok?" Trip asked waveringly. "You were like… gone."

Malcolm brought a hand to his forehead. "I… I think I blacked out for a minute," he said in a deep voice, averting his gaze. He looked thoughtful for a moment; then cast Trip a self-conscious glance. "I didn't get much sleep last night," he murmured; and although his words were graced by the hint of a smile, it didn't look very reassuring.

Trip took a moment to assess him. Malcolm did look tired, but zoning out the way he had wasn't exactly a common reaction to missed sleep. He'd seen the man work double shifts without much of a problem.

"Perhaps you oughtta get some sleep now," he said seriously.

"Later."

There was finality in Malcolm's voice, and he averted his gaze again, in that way Trip found so infuriating because it was meant to shut him out.

"Lieutenant," Trip started. But Malcolm cut him off, stiffening up and looking very resolute.

"I _will_ rest, Trip," he said, "But first I need to think of our safety; get some wood for the night; just in case we're still here."

Hands on his hips, Trip tried once again to put his thoughts into some kind of order. Why the hell was it so hard to think straight? _Logic_, he mulled, _all you have to do is pretend you're Vulcan_.

It was undeniable that they were going to need a fire again if they were still on the planet by nightfall. But Malcolm's blackout had him worried. Physical work in this kind of gravity would drain whatever energy the man had left. And if he fell into that disquieting trance away from the camp…

Trip pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Damn! He was in charge of this away mission, and enough things had gone wrong already. He wasn't going to risk any more trouble, not to mention the well-being of a colleague and friend.

As if he had read his thoughts, Malcolm added, "Look, I won't need to go far." He raised a hand and pointed. "Yesterday I found a spot, ten minutes off in that direction, where there is plenty of wood. I'll be virtually around the corner."

Trip looked into Malcolm's unwavering grey eyes one moment longer and sighed.

"Alright. But take it easy. And if you don't feel one hundred percent, I want you to stop and rest. Understood, Lieutenant?"

"Aye, Sir," Malcolm dutifully replied, straightening his shoulders to stand virtually at attention. With a nod he moved off.

Trip followed him with his gaze, mildly amused at his friend's ingrained discipline. He watched him disappear through the vegetation and turned to raise concerned eyes to the flashes that were still offering their disturbingly beautiful show, and getting closer.

* * *

"T'Pol to Shuttlepod Two."

Archer exchanged the briefest glance with Travis. The interference _was _clearing up; now they had communication with the ship again. Locking eyes back on the readings in front of him, he opened the link.

"Archer."

"Captain, the phenomenon has crossed the thermo barrier, but it appears that it is having a positive effect on the interference: it is clearing up slowly."

"Yeah, I've noticed both things. And I don't know if I should laugh or cry," Archer replied tautly. "We haven't picked up the emergency beacon yet, and time is running out for Trip and Malcolm." He felt his heart clench. Somehow hearing it said made it all the more real.

"Enterprise's sensors are still blind," T'Pol added, "But I am confident they won't be for long now."

Archer knew she had meant to reassure him, and felt grateful. Enterprise's sensors were more sophisticated than the Shuttlepod's, and if they managed to get through the interference they would undoubtedly be able to locate their people faster.

"Captain, this is Doctor Phlox," a well-known up-beat voice said. "The energy has entered the atmosphere at much lower latitude than the Northern hemisphere."

Archer felt hope reborn. "Does that mean Trip and Malcolm are safe?"

Phlox's voice came through again, a lot darker. "Unfortunately not, Captain," he said. "The bursts are travelling fast and are headed north. The Commander and Lieutenant will probably be experiencing only mild headaches and disorientation for the moment. But their symptoms will only get worse, and the problem remains: the longer they are exposed, the more they are in danger of suffering serious damage."

"In other words, we have a little more time but not too much?"

It was T'Pol again who answered. "Yes, Captain," she said. Archer could almost see her eyebrows lifting. "It would be best to find them soon."

* * *

Trip massaged his throbbing temples. All he needed now, on top of everything else, was a damn headache. He smirked. If his fears were right, unfortunately it might only get worse.

When he glanced at the time his anxiety escalated another notch: Malcolm had been gone for forty-five minutes now. Damn! What had he been thinking? He should have _ordered_ him to rest. Night was still a long way away, and there would have been more than enough time to collect the wood after he had taken a few hours of sleep. Why hadn't he thought of that? But he knew why: his brain had been in fog. And probably also Malcolm's, or he would've realised that too. Hell, something was definitely wrong. He'd better…

"Any luck?"

The voice was clearly strained, and Trip's relief in hearing it lasted only as long as the time it took him to swivel to its owner: Malcolm looked like hell. Pale, exhausted, and drenched in sweat.

Trip felt his chest constrict. "What's wrong?" he asked, easing out from under the piloting console and pushing to his feet.

"What?"

Malcolm tried to give him one of those half smiles of his, but Trip ignored it. "You don't look too good," he told him, frowning.

"It's nothing, only a mild headache," Malcolm murmured. "As I said, I didn't get much sleep."

Stepping out of the pod, Trip went up to him. "Any difficulty concentratin'?" he asked, dead serious. He tried to capture Malcolm's eyes, but the man was too fast and looked away, stubbornly pursing his lips.

"Answer me, Lieutenant."

There was a pause.

"A little," Malcolm admitted quietly. Crossing his arms over his chest, he added, "I'm tired, that's all."

He had succeeded in infusing _some_ strength in the words, but not much conviction. Trip studied him. Malcolm was no idiot. He'd have figured it out too. "You know as well as I do that's not the reason," he said, finally managing to lock eyes with him. The grey gaze eventually became less impenetrable, and Trip read in it his same concern.

"That… lightning," Malcolm said with a grimace.

Trip nodded. "The energy in it must be a helluva lot stronger than anythin' you'd experience on Earth," he commented with a mirthless huff. "The phenomenon is still far away but I'm pretty sure it's havin' an effect on us. I've got a headache too; and find it impossible to concentrate on anything that requires serious thinkin'." Looking Malcolm straight in the eye he added, "I have a feeling it's the same energy that killed the pod's circuits. If it is, I'm afraid it's strong enough to fry also our nervous systems. Do serious damage."

"And kill us?"

"Possibly."

There was tense silence.

Malcolm sighed. "Might be the lesser of two evils," he said in his deep voice. "I don't fancy remaining alive if I'm left a dribbling idiot."

"Yeah…"

Trip knew he should put his wheels in motion, consider their options, but he just couldn't find the thread of his thoughts. It was as if it was always a step away. Suddenly, he saw Malcolm wobble. He grabbed him by one arm just as the man put out the other one to lean on the pod's outer hull.

"Hey!"

"It's nothing," Malcolm mumbled.

"You must be kiddin'," Trip said darkly. "Let's get inside the pod." He dragged and almost bodily hauled Malcolm into the vessel. A moment later he had slammed the hatch closed. While Malcolm stumbled to a rear bench, he went to get the medical scanner, hoping it – at least – would work properly.

Biting his lip in concern, Trip returned to the back of the pod and held the instrument over his friend. Malcolm had leaned his head back and closed his eyes, but opened them again at the soft buzzing sound.

"If it _is_ that lightning that's giving us problems, do you believe we'll be safe in here?" he breathed out in a low voice in which doubt rang clear.

"Perhaps not safe, but certainly better off, at least for the time bein'," Trip replied as he studied the readings.

"So? What's the verdict?"

Collapsing beside Malcolm, Trip blew out a slow breath. "We can't rely on instruments, not on this planet," he murmured. He made to pocket the medical scanner, but Malcolm put a hand out and stopped him.

"Commander?"

Trip passed a hand through his hair and grimaced. "According to this," he said after a moment, lowering his eyes to the scanner, "And as far as I can understand, something is not quite right with your neocortex. But as I said…"

Malcolm silently took the scanner out of his hand, and glanced at the readings. Then re-set it and held it in front of Trip.

"My neocortex isn't the only one to be acting up, it would appear," he said grimly a moment later. "Yours seems to be in slightly better condition, but that's probably because you've been spending more time inside the pod."

"Damn," Trip ranted, massaging his throbbing temples. "If only I could get at least _some_ juice flowin'… We could put up the pod's shields."

Malcolm didn't seem to have heard him. "The one time I wasn't concerned…" he murmured without humour as if to himself. "It's ironic."

Trip felt a twinge of irritation at the idea that Malcolm might start with his pessimistic comments. "The Capt'n _will_ come," he said firmly. "I haven't lost faith in him."

There was a sarcastic huff. "I know he will, Trip. That's not the point. The problem is that when he gets here he'll probably find only a couple of…"

"Malcolm!" Trip turned in anger, but the rest of his tirade died in his throat at the sight of his friend bent forward, head in his hands and face scrunched up in pain. "Are you all right?" he asked tensely, gripping his shoulders.

"Just lovely," Malcolm eventually choked out, slowly pulling back up. He took a deep breath and shot Trip a self-conscious glance. "Look, I'm sorry. I promise I'll try not to give a repeat performance of that other time, when we were stranded on this shuttlepod."

Trip repaid him with a meaningful look. "You better not, Lieutenant." he warned softly.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

§ 8 §

"How much more land have we got to cover?" Travis asked, trying not to let his true feelings show.

Archer didn't make any effort to conceal his. "We're about two thirds done," he said, in a low voice. "Readings are clearer, but still there is no sign of that damn beacon."

Travis felt the knot in the pit of his stomach tighten. He knew what the Captain was thinking: the beacon might have never been activated; the shuttle might have crash-landed, killing the officers on board. It was beginning to look like a definite possibility.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat, and returned to concentrate on his job. Their search pattern was taking them towards those bursts of energy again, and he'd better not get distracted.

No sooner had he thought that, than the pod rocked violently. Lights flickered on Travis's console. "Captain, for a second or so I lost power to the engines," he said tensely.

"That's all we need," Archer muttered. He pressed the comm. link. "Archer to Enterprise."

"Go ahead, Captain," T'Pol replied.

"Any luck with those sensors? Lieutenant Hess's modifications might not hold up forever."

There was a pause. "Then I suggest you return to the ship immediately, Captain."

Travis glanced over his shoulders and saw Archer frown unhappily. "I'm not prepared to leave two officers behind, T'Pol," he said stubbornly. "Let me know the moment you have any readings. Archer out."

* * *

Damn, he'd never realised headaches were so debilitating: he felt like a wet mop. As the stabbing pain in his temples finally let up a little, Trip released the breath he'd been holding, gulping in air raggedly. After a moment he got up on unstable legs to get some water.

He and Malcolm had been locked in the pod for the past two hours, and they had both been experiencing waves of headaches that were getting more frequent and stronger. They had injected themselves with a dose of painkiller, but it hadn't seemed to help much. They had little doubt, by now, that the phenomenon they had observed, and which was still approaching, had something to do with their condition.

Trip heard Malcolm's breathing getting more laboured, and turned to check on him. "How're ya holdin' up?"

"Same as you, I'd imagine," Malcolm groaned.

"Water?"

Eyes closed, Malcolm shook his head.

Dropping to sit on the bench across from him, Trip looked at his friend. He had to say this while his brain still functioned - and before it was too late. Because soon it _would_ be too late, he knew it. This time Malcolm might have kept his pessimism in check, but his own innate optimism was fading fast.

"There is a place on this pod that is more shielded. Big enough for one of us."

Malcolm's eyes opened abruptly and Trip saw shock flash through them. "I don't know what you are referring to," he choked out coldly.

Trip steadied himself. "You know perfectly well what I'm tryin' to say."

"Not again, Trip," Malcolm growled. His eyes had narrowed dangerously now, and he was looking deliberately away from him. "No repeat performances, remember?"

Images flashed across Trip's mind. One and a half years back, in this same shuttlepod, the airlock would have served the opposite purpose, but the story – at least officially – had been the same: try and boost the chances of survival of one of them.

"There is no guarantee the Capt'n will get here in time, but one of us can stand a better chance of bein' rescued," he said with as much conviction as he could muster. He paused for a moment, building up resolve. "You get into that airlock, Lieutenant."

"The bloody airlock won't make much difference, and you know it," Malcolm countered, his voice growing angrier and hoarser with every word. "And if anyone should go into it, that is you, _Commander_. You're the ranking officer, for heaven's sake, and I am responsible for your safety." His jaw jutted out, and his eyes grew steely. "We've already had a similar conversation: don't make me threaten you with the use of a phase pistol again."

"Exactly. I'm the rankin' officer," Trip barked back, ignoring the last bit. "Which means you're _my_ responsibility." Trip's vision swam, and he shook his head to clear it. "I'm orderin' you, Lieutenant…" Before he could even finish, Malcolm cut him off.

"Respectfully, _Sir_, I refuse to obey," he spat out. "And I would be grateful if we could end this argument here. You will have noticed that getting angry only makes a headache worse."

Silence fell while they avoided looking at each other and tried to catch their breath.

"There's no logic in it, Malcolm," Trip finally said, quietly. Out of the corner of the eye he saw the other man turn to him, and he did the same. Their eyes locked and he knew what Malcolm was going to say before he had uttered a single word.

"Who the hell cares about logic?" Malcolm indeed commented with a mirthless huff. "We are no Vulcans and…" Pursing his lips, he looked away.

"And what?"

Once again Trip knew what was stuck in Malcolm's throat. One and a half years ago this man had dragged him down from the airlock because of his strong sense of duty, more than anything else. Today it wasn't duty that made them argue over who – if anyone – should go into the airlock.

Malcolm's gaze became unguarded. "And if I have to die, I'd much rather it happened with my friend beside me than all alone in an airlock," he said in a low but unwavering voice. "So I really hope you feel the same."

Trip held the grey eyes and even managed a small smile. "Can't argue with ya there, Lieutenant."

* * *

Archer rubbed his eyes. There was a weight on his heart that felt much too heavy to carry. He had failed. He didn't care how many worlds he might explore and first contacts make. He had very likely lost two officers and friends. Being Captain on the first Warp Five vessel wouldn't be the same for him again after today.

Soon he'd have to give the order to return to the ship: their shuttlepod's systems had begun to show quite a few signs of malfunction and, much as the thought of giving up made him sick to the heart, he knew that he shouldn't risk the life of his helmsman, if not his own.

"T'Pol," he said in defeat, opening a link to Enterprise, "Any readings from the sensors yet?"

"No, Captain. But I am expecting them to come online any moment."

Archer was struck by the feeling that rang in the Vulcan's normally impassive voice.

"Captain," Phlox said. "I believe the Commander and Lieutenant still have time. Not much, but perhaps enough."

The Doctor had undoubtedly wanted to give him the hope that was no longer in his voice. What he didn't know was that their vessel was failing them for good.

"Our shuttlepod is giving up on us," Archer said in a hoarse voice. "We're heading back. Archer out." He slumped in his chair, emotionally drained.

"Captain?" he heard Travis enquire. Closing his eyes, he breathed out, "You heard me, Travis. Get us back to Enterprise."

* * *

"Any regrets?"

The question hung in the air, threatening because of the assumption that went with it.

Malcolm shifted position, buying time, hard hit by the realisation that not even the ship's optimist held on to a belief in a happy ending here. The other time Trip had at least _pretended_ it till the very end. And after all he'd been proven right. So this sudden hopelessness was even harder to accept.

"May I have another question, Sir?" Malcolm asked, hiding his own despair behind a bad attempt at humour. "I'm afraid my brain isn't up to pondering such weighty matters at the moment." Too bad the effect was spoilt by a strain which, much as he tried, he could not keep out of his voice. Courtesy of his neocortex.

Trip, who had returned to sit beside him, didn't react: he seemed to be waiting for an answer, his blue eyes still on him, his face far too pale and expressionless for the man. Malcolm felt his heart clench. He knew why Trip wanted to keep a conversation going. He could feel how those energy bursts were scrambling his own mind, and talking would help them focus. Keep them from fading away – at least for the time being.

"Damn, Trip," he choked out brokenly as his mask shattered. "Of course I have regrets. Don't you? We're dying a rather untimely death, if you haven't noticed." He hugged himself, clenching his jaw against a bout of nausea that was probably mostly caused by tension.

"I don't have many," Trip murmured, managing to sound matter-of-fact even through gritted teeth. "I'm happy with the life I've lived. Did what I wanted to do."

He paused and brought a hand to his forehead, and Malcolm wished he could fool himself into thinking his friend was collecting his thoughts rather than bracing against the relentless tightening of the vice-like grip they both felt in their temples. Unfortunately it was quite obvious that it wasn't so.

"Would've liked to say good-bye to the Capt'n and my family though," Trip added after a beat, and this time his attempt to sound detached failed. "And live long enough to see my children."

Malcolm lowered his gaze to hide not only his physical and emotional distress but the impact the words had unexpectedly had on him. He had never thought about having a family, children. But now that the option was going to be taken out of his hands, he felt a sadness seize him. Trip's voice rang out again, though, too intense for him to ignore.

"What do you regret? Mind if I ask?"

It would have been easy to say, 'Yes, I do mind'. His reticent nature was all for it. _Save your breath_, it was screaming, _you don't have much left anyway._ But Malcolm knew there was another, albeit more hidden side to his character; one that had been quelled but actually liked to reach out. And spending their last hours – if they still _had_ hours – in silence wasn't all that appealing, even to someone like himself, who had grown -- had been_ turned _into a rather taciturn person. If speaking only aggravated his headache… well, so be it: better that than slipping into nothingness without a word.

"Things I said to people – or, rather, never had the courage to," he said quietly, fighting to keep his focus on what he wanted to say. "But most of all I regret drifting apart from my father, and that I'll never get a chance to remedy that. I'd always hoped one day we'd bridge the gap."

He closed his eyes and willed his mind to retrieve a happy memory, one he held dearest. It dated back to a very early time of his life, a time before his aquaphobia, before his allergies, before his own will had decided to assert itself and cross swords with that of Stuart Reed; a memory of himself on his father's knees, comfortable in each other's company. It flashed against the backdrop of his eyelids, making a lump form in his throat, but quickly vanished, cancelled by a new and unbidden flare of pain that forced a groan out of his throat.

"Gettin' worse, huh?" Trip asked quietly.

Malcolm pressed two fingers on his eyes. "Certainly not any better."

They might not be freezing, he mulled, but their situation was just as desperate as that other time, on this same vessel. They _had_ been rescued that time, he repeated to himself, but his heart just couldn't believe it could happen twice.

"What is it with us and Shuttlepod One?" he wondered with a weak, sarcastic huff.

When Trip didn't reply Malcolm opened his eyes and turned to him. Trip's head had lolled forward, and he looked…

Malcolm's heart missed a beat. "Trip!" he growled, surprised that there should be anger in his voice. He grabbed him by the front of his uniform. "You're not leaving me like this, Commander!"

Trip mumbled something, cracking his eyes open. "Sorry," he murmured after a moment, regaining focus. "Just restin' my eyes a little."

Malcolm blew out a slow breath. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

"I think you can let go of me now," Trip added with a faint smile. "Won't go anywhere, I promise."

Indeed Malcolm was still clinging for dear life to Trip's uniform, so he slowly released him. "Don't you dare," he said darkly. He suddenly realised he didn't so much fear death as seeing Trip die. That would leave him alone, and he'd much rather spend his last moments in company.

They were in silence for a while. Finally Trip broke it.

"Hey, Lieutenant…" he said wearily, raising innocent eyebrows. "D'ya still think the way Columbus went about it – ya know, no computer, no power, no way to contact anyone – is such a great thing?"

There was just a hint of teasing in Trip's voice, but Malcolm didn't mind. It was good to hear. Trip was back.

"Bloody hell. No," he blew out with a smirk.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

§ 9 §

"Subcommander, we've got sensor readings," the Ensign at science exclaimed.

T'Pol stood up from the Captain's chair and with fluid strides went to check her console.

Hoshi couldn't help envying the way she managed to look elegant even in haste. The linguist swivelled in her chair to follow her with her gaze, studying the Vulcan Officer's face closely to try and capture what was going on behind her carefully controlled features. In the end she could no longer keep her curiosity in check.

"Can you locate Shuttlepod One, Subcommander?"

T'Pol raised a rather intense gaze to her and nodded as she depressed the internal comm. link. "T'Pol to Doctor Phlox."

"Go ahead, Subcommander," the Denobulan answered without delay.

"Doctor, the interference has cleared and we have located Shuttlepod One. I intend to use the transporter to rescue the Commander and Lieutenant. Please report to the transporter room."

Phlox's urgent voice came back immediately. "I wouldn't recommend that, T'Pol. There is no way to tell what…"

"Doctor," T'Pol uncharacteristically interrupted him; Hoshi's trained ear heard the edge in her voice. "I am afraid I'm out of options."

This time the pause was slightly longer.

"Please make at least sure the transport is as quick as possible."

"Understood."

T'Pol straightened up and addressed Mayweather's replacement. "Take us out of orbit, Ensign. We are going to enter the planet's atmosphere. I'm sending you a set of coordinates." Then she turned to Hoshi. "Hail the Captain."

* * *

This wasn't how he had thought he would die, Trip thought, standing on wobbly legs after emptying what little there had been in his stomach just outside the hatch. Indeed there had been virtually nothing to throw up and the dry heaving had only hurt his throat and sent wonderful spikes of pain through his skull. He had been sure it was going to split in two.

Trip shielded his eyes, desperately trying to shut out the light. Not only the bright daylight but also the blinding flashes of energy that flared right into his brain, numbing it more and more and making it increasingly difficult for him to concentrate on anything.

Shakingly, he managed to climb back inside the pod. His balance was all but gone and he stumbled worse than a drunkard as he returned to his bench. He dropped on it limply, letting himself fall on one side, facing Malcolm.

Soft moans and broken words were coming from across the narrow space that divided them, and Trip egotistically wished he could shut them out. To hear them added another layer of suffering to his trial, an anguish which he really could do without. Malcolm had left him about half an hour before, without notice. He had begun muttering technical gibberish about weapon systems and EM fields; and then things Trip had tried not to pay attention to, for he knew they were not for him and his friend wouldn't have wanted him to hear them. Not that it really mattered what he overheard, at this point. Trip had gently lowered him on the bench and covered him, his heart clenching at the sight of Malcolm's empty eyes and at the notion there was nothing else he could do for him – for both of them.

Damn, this was no way to die. Trip bit his lip to suppress a groan, inwardly laughing at his idiotic self-consciousness: Malcolm was certainly in no condition to judge his pain endurance - in fact no one would hear him even if he screamed at the top of his lungs. Maybe that's just what he should do. But instead, scrunching his eyes shut, he sent out a silent prayer that he could slip into oblivion too, for he'd just about had enough of... Well, how about that? He might be granted his wish sooner than he thought: he was already hearing things. Specifically, a communicator chirping.

It took him a long moment to formulate the thought that the sound might not be in his head. His heart started racing and his breathing got ragged as he removed the small device from his arm-pocket and held it in his unstable hand: it was chirruping, and he felt it vibrate. Flicking his wrist to open it – a movement he'd done hundreds of times – he almost lost his grip on it and let it fly out of his hand.

"Commander, can you read me?" T'Pol said through it. Never had a Vulcan voice sounded so melodious.

"T'Pol?" he heard himself mumble in bewilderment. He blinked, willing his mind to work for just a few more seconds. "T'Pol," he added immediately after, urgently, his words slurred and barely understandable, "You'd better get here and soon, we're runnin' out of time."

"We're coming in with Enterprise, Commander," T'Pol's voice replied. "In about two and a half minutes you and Lieutenant Reed will be transported on board."

Trip felt a wave of relief so overwhelming that it almost knocked him unconscious. "Never too soon," he whispered. Then he looked across to Malcolm. "Hold on, Lieutenant, cavalry's on its way."

The last he knew, before feeling a well-known tingling sensation in his body, was the sound of Enterprise's engines. Damn, but it was a beautiful sound!

* * *

Archer, fearing the worst, pressed the button that would let him into sickbay. The doors opened and his muscles tensed at the harrowing sight of his two officers pale and immobile, a two-day stubble on their faces, uniforms dirty and dishevelled, surrounded by a flurry of activity.

Phlox was issuing orders to a medic who was monitoring Trip, while he himself prepared to get Malcolm inside the imaging chamber.

"Doctor?" Archer enquired tautly.

The Denobulan looked briefly in his direction. "I sedated them; it is better for the tests I need to run," Phlox replied tersely as he strapped Reed to the movable bed. Before Archer could ask anything else, he went on to say, "I won't know for a while if the damage is reversible, Captain. I will contact you as soon as I do."

Archer recognised the words for what they really were, a polite way of saying 'please remove yourself from sickbay', and bit back the questions that were on the tip of his tongue. He knew he had to give Phlox time, and if he stayed in sickbay he'd only be in his way. He nodded and said, "I'll be waiting for news in my ready room."

As he walked along the corridor to the turbo lift, he was quietly joined by T'Pol, who fell in step with him. She glanced at him searchingly.

"Phlox doesn't know anything yet," he murmured, aware that she'd know already, but at a loss for other words.

They walked in silence the rest of the way. When they stopped in front of the lift and faced each other, T'Pol said, raising almost concerned eyebrows, "It was not your fault, Captain."

If the circumstances had been lighter, Archer would have laughed. T'Pol was beginning to know him rather well. Yes, he did feel responsible, even if the phenomenon they had bumped into had been sudden and unpredictable. It was _illogical _to think he was, he knew that, but he couldn't help it. He felt responsible for all of his crew, no matter what.

"I know," he replied hoarsely. "But it doesn't make it any easier."

* * *

"Capt'n?"

Archer raised his head from the padd he'd been reading, a tentative grin spreading over his face. Trip was looking at him through bleary eyes.

Archer had been sitting in between two biobeds, waiting and hoping, for a few hours. That's where he had wanted to be. Phlox had told him the damage _should_ be reversible but they would only know once Trip and Malcolm regained consciousness.

The Doc had wanted to keep his patients sedated for a day to -- Archer hadn't exactly understood why. Well, he probably would have, had he paid more attention to Phlox's lengthy explanation. But his mind had been elsewhere.

He had returned to the bridge, aware that the entire crew was concerned and he needed to be seen in command. He had even managed to catch a few hours of fretful sleep, but had got up early that morning and made his way to sickbay, knowing he had to be there for Trip and Malcolm when the moment came. Now that moment had come, at least for one of them.

"Good to have you back, Trip," Archer said with feeling, studying his friend's face closely to understand just how _back_ Trip was. He looked a bit confused, and Archer's budding smile fell. "Phlox…" he called, but the Doctor was already at his side, checking the monitors at the head of Trip's bed. The obnoxious smile that soon appeared on the Denobulan's face finally melted the icy knot that had formed in Archer's gut.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Tucker?" Phlox asked blithely, turning his very blue gaze on his patient. "Any residual pain?"

Trip frowned. "Pain? No… what's goin' on?" he asked wearily.

"You were transported back to Enterprise from the planet, remember?" Archer gently reminded him, standing up so Trip would not have to crane his neck to look at him. "You were exposed to some strong bursts of energy..."

Trip brought a hand to his head. "The headaches…" he mumbled. He closed his eyes but cracked them open again seconds later. "Malcolm…" he croaked out.

"He should regain consciousness soon," Archer reassured him.

Trip's eyes closed and this time remained so.

Archer turned in concern to Phlox, but the Doctor's face had a reassuring expression on it. "He'll be fine, Captain," he said. "It's normal for him to feel tired, and it's good for him to sleep. He needs the rest."

"What about Malcolm, Doctor?"

Phlox's expression changed as they turned to the next biobed. "The Lieutenant's condition is worse than Mister Tucker's. I'm not sure why," he said gravely. "It looks like he's slipping into a coma. We'll just have to hope and wait. There is nothing else to do."

* * *

The sounds were like a distant echo, but they held something familiar, which made him want to focus on them. For some reason that he couldn't quite grasp, it was important not to let them fade away.

Malcolm reached out to them as one would when getting something on a high shelf, stretching his concentration, if not his limbs.

The sounds, zooming in and out, threatened any moment to get lost in the distance. They were pulling away from him, and he was so tired. It took too much energy to try and hold them back. He was too weak to hold his tenuous grip on what had pierced this cottoned world in which he seemed to be wandering. Feeling the despair of someone who loses something precious, he let go and was immersed in deafening silence.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

§ 10 §

"Phlox says you passed all your tests with flying colours," Archer said. He turned the chair near Trip's biobed the other way round and sat down, leaning his arms on the back of it.

"Yeah…"

"That's great, Trip."

Archer grimaced: there was a clear discrepancy between the meaning of his words and the tone of his voice, but he just couldn't bring himself to sound relieved, let alone happy, when one of his officers was still in limbo. He knew, though, that he needn't apologise about his mood. There was no doubt that Trip was feeling much the same.

"Malcolm is as stubborn as you are," he added hoarsely, his heart clenching as he raised his eyes to the next biobed and the still form on it. "He might still come through." He had wanted to say 'I'm sure that he will make it', but in the end the words had stuck in his throat.

Trip glanced at the unconscious Lieutenant, before returning his gaze to his hands. "He spent too much time outside, on that damned planet," he murmured, as if needing to explain why, after Phlox had weaned them both from the sedative, he had responded as expected whereas Malcolm had slipped into a coma.

"Yes, Phlox thinks he was exposed to that energy more than you were," Archer confirmed, forcing the words out. He had to speak the truth; it broke his heart, but it wouldn't be good or serve any purpose to lie, or pretend everything would just turn out fine where there was more than a chance that it wouldn't. "Unfortunately he cannot predict whether Malcolm will be ok."

"I just hope that he will be, if he ever wakes up, Capt'n," Trip said tautly. "When we figured out what those bursts could do to us, he told me he'd rather die than suffer brain damage."

Archer's face scrunched up in a soulful smirk. _Who wouldn't_, he thought grimly. But especially someone like Malcolm: he was too proud a spirit to stand the idea of having to rely on the help of people for the rest of his life.

Trip turned to him, looking like a man whose burden is too heavy and needs someone to take it off his shoulders. "I was the ranking officer on that mission," he said in a voice altered by self-directed anger. "I should have realised that it was dangerous to stay out in the open. He'd be fine now if I had been a commanding officer worthy of that name."

"Don't say that, Trip: your reasoning was affected," Archer said firmly. "You weren't thinking straight. And neither was Malcolm. You said it yourself that both of you had difficulty concentrating. And even if your thinking _hadn't_ been impaired, how were you supposed to know just how dangerous that energy was? Your instruments weren't working properly. It's irrational to feel guilty over what's happened."

In the middle of his lecture, a little voice in his mind began to whisper, 'Look who's speaking'. Not so long ago T'Pol had told him as much, albeit in her terser, Vulcan way, trying to soothe his own unreasonable pangs of conscience. He really couldn't blame Trip, now, could he? He knew what he was going through.

"That's the thing with being in command, though," Archer said painfully, his heart reaching out to his friend. "You feel responsible for the people you're in charge of. No matter what." He raised his eyebrows in a resigned expression. "It happens to me all the time. And this time was no exception," he admitted.

"Ah, Capt'n, how could you have foreseen…"

Trip didn't finish, lowering his head and passing a hand over his eyes. He heaved a deep breath. "You know, I don't envy you," he murmured after a moment, "It must be a heck of a stressin' job to be Captain of a ship."

"It is," Archer said with a smile that he knew would not reach his eyes. "There are moments when I feel the pressure crush me; but I wouldn't change it for anything in the world. This crew makes me very proud to be their Commanding Officer."

Someone cleared his throat, and both Trip and Archer turned to see Phlox standing a couple of metres away.

"Doctor," Archer said, standing up in a silent invitation to join them.

Phlox came up to them with a nod of greeting. "I'll keep the Commander one more night, Captain, and if nothing strange arises, tomorrow he can be released from sickbay."

"What about returning to duty?" Trip asked.

Archer was struck by how flat his voice sounded. Generally Trip would have been chomping at the bit to get back into Engineering.

Phlox tilted his head, studying his patient. "There is no physical reason for you not to return to duty, Commander. I am slightly concerned, however, about your emotional state." He looked Trip straight in the eye. "I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself because your mind is somewhere else."

Trip held the Denobulan's searching gaze. "Doing some work will actually help me take my mind _off_ other things, Doc," he said quietly.

Phlox glanced briefly at his other patient. "Very well," he relented. "Only light duties, though."

"Thanks, Doc."

* * *

It was a strange sensation, a bit like experiencing your weight again after being in zero G. Malcolm couldn't quite tell where or what and didn't have the energy to open his eyes, so he lay very still as he fought to emerge from a haziness that made him uneasy.

All he was aware of through his senses was his breathing, and he focused on it, feeling his chest expand and contract: it did so rhythmically, easily. He took a deeper breath and his mind cleared fractionally. Nothing seemed to hurt.

After a moment he was lucid enough to turn his attention from inward to outward. He could hear some soft beeps, and they sounded familiar, which made him feel a bit more reassured.

He listened to them while images flashed unbidden through his mind: a camp fire; dark shadows; a bright full moon; Trip on a shuttlepod bench, with his eyes closed… He knew these things should mean something to him, but they just didn't at the moment, and he was too exhausted to search his memory for answers.

With an effort, he cracked his eyes open. His vision was blurred so he blinked a few times, but it did nothing to clear it. What helped was when he turned his head, and his eyes shifted from a white, nondescript ceiling to a shape near his bed. Trip, working on a padd, slowly came into focus.

Malcolm silently looked at him, feeling, for some strange reason that he couldn't understand, relieved to see his friend. He wanted to speak, but he felt so overwhelmed by a number of sensations – weariness being conspicuously among them – that he couldn't bring himself to utter a single sound. He just lay there, happy for the moment, to watch his friend work away.

It was while he was in this state of blissful exhaustion that Trip actually lifted his gaze and looked at him: their eyes met and Trip's went wide.

"Malcolm?"

Malcolm stared back at him, shocked by how drawn Trip's face was. He opened his mouth to speak but once again just couldn't summon the energy. He wondered if he himself looked half as bad as Trip did, then decided he must, judging by the worry that was definitely turning his friend's normally warm and cheerful eyes into bottomless depths one could fall into. Concern began to sneak through him as well.

"Malcolm…" Trip choked out, distress clear in his voice.

Malcolm's mouth was already rather dry, but went even drier. Why did Trip sound so panicked? He felt his heartbeat pick up speed. Perhaps there was something very wrong with him: he was in sickbay, after all. He might not be experiencing pain but Phlox had some pretty potent meds for taking care of that. Trip wasn't very good at hiding his feelings, everybody knew that. So this must be it: he must be badly injured.

Trip swallowed hard. "Oh, my God…" he whispered. Raising a hand, he put it hesitantly on his arm, and through it Malcolm could feel the tension of his friend's body being conveyed to him. Damn, this could be even worse than he had thought.

Well, he wasn't going to be prey to doubt and fear. Digging deep within himself, Malcolm found the energy to croak out, "Am I going to die?" The words had come out as a barely understandable, hoarse whisper.

"What?" Trip breathed out, his brow creasing slightly.

Malcolm coughed to try and clear his voice. "Bloody hell, the truth," he demanded as firmly as his state allowed him, "Am I about to die?" He sank back into the mattress, drained, his eyes beginning to droop closed. As an immediate reaction Trip strengthened the grip on his arm.

"Stay with me, Malcolm," he virtually ordered.

Malcolm felt himself slipping away, but there was such urgency in Trip's voice that he managed to crack his eyes open again.

Trip had stood up and was staring at him. "You're not dyin'," he said emotionally. "Damn, I was so scared that those bursts might have…" He cut himself off and swallowed. A moment later a grin brought a ray of sunlight over his face. "But you made it. We both made it."

_Bursts… _

All of a sudden things came rushing back and Malcolm knew what the images that had flashed through his mind before were all about. With the memory came despair so real that he scrunched his eyes shut against it. Trip's grip tightened again.

"Phlox!" Trip called; then pressingly, "Malcolm, are you ok?"

With a huge effort Malcolm managed once again to look at him. "The Captain came in time," he mumbled.

"Yeah, well, it's a long story," Trip replied, his grin coming back. "I'll tell you all about it when you're a bit more with it."

Malcolm managed a small smile himself. As his eyes closed for good he heard the familiar voice of Doctor Phlox, but by then unconsciousness had virtually reclaimed him, its grip more powerful than the one Trip still had on his arm.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

I've truly appreciated your comments to this story. Thank you all, especially those of you who have taken the time to review every chapter. Your feedback keeps me wanting to write more stories. Hope you'll find small Malcolm's _most precious possession_ believable, hehe ;-)

Epilogue

It had been two days since Malcolm had been released to his quarters and allowed to go back on light duties, and he still had difficulty sleeping the entire night through. Maybe if he were finally granted to work a full day and get properly tired things would go back to normal, he mulled as he sat up in bed to check the time: two-fifteen in the morning.

Rubbing his eyes, he let out a resigned sigh; then dropped back flat again. He wondered if Trip was going through the same. He hadn't seen much of the Engineer lately; Trip had been back on full duty and quite busy, and the few times they had crossed paths it had been on the job, with no chance to speak freely.

Yes, he would have to go to Phlox and extort the permission to work full time. That would definitely make him feel better. Help him forget. Perhaps the crew would then stop treating him as if he was brittle. Not that he hadn't been touched by the warmth everybody had showed him in this circumstance: the Captain, Hoshi, Travis, the people of his department - yes, even Phlox. They had made him feel part of this large family which, he supposed, they really were. But now it was high time to be in command of his life again.

Malcolm tossed and turned in bed for a few minutes; then with a grunt he threw the blanket aside and got up. No use wasting time. He'd grab a cup of something and check reports, or carry out some more EM field research. Not even Phlox could stop him from working in his quarters.

When he entered the mess hall he was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't notice the other person there until he turned from the drink dispenser, cup in hand, and raised his eyes. The lights were dim, but there was no mistaking who the shape in the semi-darkness was.

"Hi," Trip drawled, sprawled on a chair at the table near the porthole. A cup stood in front of him, but looked forgotten.

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. "Well," he said with a hint of irony. "Fancy bumping into you here at this time."

As he walked up to him and sat down, he took in Trip's dishevelled state. Not that at two-thirty a.m. an officer could be expected to be at his best; but there was something about his friend that strangely reminded him of his own reflection, when he had washed his face a few minutes ago and glanced at the mirror.

"How have ya been doin'?"

The accent might be thick but this wasn't a perfunctory question. The way Trip was looking at him, his blue eyes sharp enough to pierce him, told Malcolm this was a serious enquiry.

Malcolm brought the cup to his lips and took a sip to buy time, gazing at his friend over the rim. How had he been doing? Good question. Hell, wouldn't Trip know? Putting the cup down, Malcolm resisted the temptation to give his standard reply.

"Same as you, if this chance encounter is anything to go by," he said returning Trip's intense gaze.

Trip gave a lopsided smirk. "Nightmares?"

"Not specifically." Malcolm leaned back. "It's more like I can't relax properly. I should, because I'm not physically tired." He gave a sarcastic snort. "That, actually, might be the problem. Perhaps a double shift would do me good. I've had more rest than I can stand."

Trip chuckled softly. But Malcolm thought he still looked off-colour. "Is that why you're here in the middle of the night?" he enquired in turn. "Nightmares?"

Trip's eyes shifted away from him. "Nah, I'm fine," he said with a shrug. "Came for a cup of milk."

Malcolm couldn't believe this. Was Trip trying to play his own game? Tilting his head and narrowing his gaze dangerously, he said in a warning voice, "Only I, on this ship, am allowed to say I'm fine when I'm not, Commander."

Trip rolled his eyes. "I'm not havin' _nightmares_," he said, stressing the word. "Just… havin' a hard time fallin' asleep."

"What's on your mind?"

"I… keep thinkin' about those last moments on the planet," Trip eventually admitted, with a grimace.

Yes, Malcolm could very well imagine what a hard and lonely time that must have been. After regaining consciousness he had often thought about it and felt grateful that the roles hadn't been reversed.

"I'm sorry I wasn't in a condition to keep you company," he said truthfully, adding with a half grin, "At least I wasn't an annoying arse like that other time."

Trip shot him a very serious look. "You were in pain, and mutterin' things, and there was nothin' I could do to help you," he said tautly. "And I actually wished I could shut you up, 'cause it broke my heart to hear you like that, but to be honest especially because I knew that's how I'd end up too."

Malcolm shook his head. "That was only human and is nothing to be ashamed of. In fact I should thank you for what you did for me on that planet. For taking care of me till the end."

"Taking _care_ of you?" Trip repeated with a sarcastic huff. "I didn't even recognise how dangerous it would be for you to be out in the open. I was in charge of the mission. You could have…" He passed a hand over his eyes.

"But I didn't," Malcolm said firmly. "And there is no way you'd have been responsible even if I had. Really, Trip, it would be ridiculous to think otherwise. Take it from someone who knows all about feeling responsible."

There was a long silence.

"You and I always seem to make it somehow, always get another chance," Trip finally commented. Something in his voice and in the way he looked at him put Malcolm on the alert.

"I must say, we're two lucky blokes," he cautiously agreed, wondering what the man was getting at.

Trip lowered his gaze a moment, before lifting it again. "This is probably none of my business, Malcolm, but… I think it's time you thought about bridgin' that gap you were tellin' me about," he said quietly.

Malcolm's muscles tensed automatically. Breaking eye contact, he grabbed his tea, wrapping his hands around the cup. Yes, it was time. It had been _time_ for a long time, but that bloody wall between him and his father was so difficult to pull down.

"When you were out of it, in the pod," Trip continued, "I… overheard a few things you'd have probably wanted to keep to yourself," he said apologetically.

Malcolm tightened his mouth, feeling very vulnerable. If he were to allow anyone into his confidence it would be Trip; yet he'd rather be the one deciding what to reveal about himself and what not.

"Not your fault," he said, his voice dropping low.

"It was only a few broken sentences," Trip added, sounding ill-at-ease himself. "And I had my own troubles to contend with, so it's not as if I was payin' much attention… Still, I couldn't help hearin' them and understandin' who they were meant for."

Malcolm swallowed. He might as well explain a few things at this point. "There is a lot of resentment between my father and I," he said, forcing himself to keep his voice level. "I suppose in the state I was it just spilt out. It doesn't mean I don't… respect the man." _Love_, he'd wanted to say - because he did love his father - but he hadn't been able to say the word out loud. Another legacy of his rigid upbringing. Clenching his jaw, he murmured, "I'm sorry you were exposed to my bitterness. Not something I am proud of."

"Bitterness?" Trip's brow creased a little while his mouth curved up in an expression of gentle amusement. He shook his head. "There was no bitterness in your words, Malcolm. Quite the opposite."

That was the last thing Malcolm had expected. He stared at Trip speechlessly. It looked like his friend knew something about him that even he himself didn't.

"That's what I'm tryin' to say," Trip went on, "I think you're ready to bridge that gap: dress rehearsal went without problems."

A lump formed at the base of Malcolm's throat. Trip, being his usual perspicacious self, saw it and gave him one of his heart-warming smiles, which, invariably, had the power of defusing any difficult situation.

"I'll keep that in mind," Malcolm finally said.

The awkward moment was broken by the sound of the mess hall doors opening, and they both turned to see Archer trudge in, hardly the picture of Earth's first Warp-Five Vessel's Captain. As soon as he spotted them, he stopped in his tracks. "Can't a man have a troubled night in peace?" he asked with a weary sigh. "What is this, Nightmares Anonymous?"

"Welcome to the club, Capt'n," Trip chuckled.

"I thought you weren't having any nightmares, Commander," Malcolm commented in a straight face. "Just a hard time falling asleep."

Trip glared at the Lieutenant. "I'm not. 'Twas a figure of speech, Malcolm."

Archer rolled his eyes and stumbled on to the drink dispenser. "What are you gentlemen drinking?"

"Milk."

"Tea, Sir."

Archer's hand hovered over the machine's buttons for a moment. Then, muttering something under his breath, he let it fall and disappeared into his private mess, reappearing a moment later with a bottle and three glasses.

"Ya know, Capt'n," Trip drawled after Archer had settled at their table and poured them the Scotch. "Malcolm and I weren't overly worried on that planet. We knew we could count on you to come and save our hides."

"Well, you were wrong," Archer said darkly. He downed his drink in one shot.

Trip exchanged a frown with Malcolm. "Ah – I didn't mean to say…" he stuttered. "It doesn't matter that it was T'Pol who got us back in the end..."

"You tried your best, Sir, and even risked your life," Malcolm finished Trip's thought.

Archer shot the two officers a quick glance. "Yes, yes," he commented irritably, leaning back. "Spare me the speech on how _illogical_ it is to feel guilty. I went through it already."

Suddenly Malcolm couldn't suppress a soft chuckle. Two pairs of questioning eyes immediately converged on him, surprise clear in them.

"Glad you're finding a funny side to all this, Malcolm," Archer said, raising his eyebrows and refilling their glasses.

Malcolm cleared his throat, quickly pulling his face straight again. "I'm sorry, Captain. It just occurred to me that, strangely enough, for once I seem to be the only one without pangs of conscience."

"Well," Trip exclaimed with a wide grin. "That's worth a toast." He raised his glass. "To the one and only mission gone totally wrong that hasn't left Lieutenant Malcolm Reed feelin' guilty."

"_Almost_ totally wrong," Malcolm corrected.

Archer laughed softly, shaking his head and clinking his glass to the others.

"And now you two go and get some sleep," he said after a few more moments, sounding very much like a father sending his children to bed. "I need clear-headed officers on the bridge, not zombies."

"Speaking of which, Sir," Malcolm ventured, getting up, "If I may… I'd sleep much better if I were allowed to go back on full duty."

Archer gave him a long, assessing look. "All right, Malcolm. I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Captain."

"Don't forget to get some shuteye too, Capt'n," Trip called, as they exited the mess hall. "This crew needs you alert."

Malcolm winced at his friend's outspokenness, but all it earned him was an amused grin.

* * *

They walked along the corridor on B deck without hurry, both undoubtedly knowing that it would be difficult to obey the Captain's order: it was that silly time, not night, not morning, when it is too late to go to sleep and too early to get up.

Malcolm glanced at his friend: he seemed relaxed. Good old Trip, he thought, blessed with such an easy character. He should try and learn from him, just a little. Yes, perhaps it _was_ really time he reached out to his father. In these past two years he'd been close to death a few too many times to shove the issue back into that corner of his mind where things were left in standby forever.

They came to a halt in front of his quarters. "Here I am, then," Malcolm said, pressing the release button. The door opened and he entered, turning to see his friend off. "Good night, Trip. See you…" He glanced at his watch and shrugged. "In just over three hours."

"Wait a sec, Malcolm." Trip put a hand out and stopped the door from closing again. "You've got to tell me one thing."

"What would that be?"

"What your most precious possession was, when you were a kid." Trip straightened to his full height probably to look imposing. "Come on, you owe me that."

"I do?" Malcolm let his eyebrows go drastically up.

"Well, ok, maybe you don't but… _please_?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, Malcolm tilted his head, considering the request. "This would be a major disclosure, Commander. I would expect something in return."

Trip narrowed his eyes and they held each other's gaze in a silent challenge.

"Alright," Trip finally yielded. "Shoot."

"I beg your pardon?" Malcolm's eyebrows shot up again at the choice of word.

"More power to the weapons array?" Trip suggested, disregarding the look on Malcolm's face. "A couple of engineers at your disposal for a whole day to sort out all the glitches in the Armoury...? Help in upgrading the cannons...?"

Putting on his Lieutenant Reed steely gaze, Malcolm said deadpan, "Movie night: I get to choose for two months."

Trip smirked unhappily.

"Good night, Commander." With an innocent smile, Malcolm pushed Trip's hand off the door.

"Wait a minute! Did I say no?" Sticking his tongue over his lower teeth, Trip shot him a frustrated look. "One month. Four movies."

"One and a half: six movies and not one less."

Trip sighed. "Alright."

"Very well."

"So?..."

Malcolm waited a beat, for effect; then said flatly, "A spider."

"A _spider_?"

Malcolm nodded solemnly. "Big, black and hairy."

Trip's face scrunched up in a grimace of disgust. "A big, black and hairy spider was your most _precious_ _possession_ when you were a kid?"

"Very precious. Used it to scare off a lot of obnoxious people."

"Gawd, Malcolm!" Trip murmured, shaking his head. "And your mother let you keep a spider in the house?"

"She wasn't too fond of him, but so long as I didn't leave him around, I could keep him."

"_Him_?"

"Siegfried."

"What?" Trip made a face, like saying 'you must be kidding me'. "Siegfried?"

"Siegfried the spider, sounded good," Malcolm said with a shrug.

It was impossible by now to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up, so Malcolm tried to hide his amusement behind a smile of courtesy. "Well, perhaps we really ought to try and catch a little sleep now, don't you think?"

"Huh?" Trip looked like he was on another planet – well, starship. "Oh, yeah, sure," he said absently. With a last wary glance he muttered 'See ya' and turned to walk to his quarters. Suddenly he stopped. "You don't have anythin' like that on board, do you?" He enquired hesitantly.

"Oh, no, not to worry. Siegfried was given away eventually, and never replaced."

"_Given away_?" Trip shook his head as if to clear it. "Forget it. I don't wanna know," he mumbled, trudging on.

Malcolm let the door swish closed and leaned with his back on it, bursting into a liberating laugh. He wondered what Trip thought his most precious possession had been, probably something important like an old coin, or a memento from past Reed sailormen. Finally, he pushed off and went to his computer. His hands hesitated over the commands for a moment - perhaps he should leave his friend wondering what kind of a weird child he had been. Then, shaking his head, he pressed a few buttons and prepared to write a message. Ah -- he was getting too soft.

* * *

When Trip entered his own quarters he was contemplating the disturbing mental image of a small Malcolm petting a horrible, black spider. Trip wasn't too fond of insects and crawling creatures at large, but big spiders definitely gave him the creeps. Great, he mulled as he stumbled to the bathroom, now he might really get nightmares.

He washed his face and drank a glass of water. As he re-emerged into his room a few minutes later, he noticed he had received a message.

He checked the sender: Malcolm. _What now?_ he silently ranted. Sitting down at his desk, he imputed a few commands and stared at the computer screen. A funny-looking spidery character looked back at him. Smirking, he shifted his eyes to the message below.

"_Spiderman _is quite high on my list. Also_ Henry the V _and_ Braveheart_, although – knowing how much you enjoy vintage titles – I wouldn't dismiss _Lawrence of Arabia _and_ Bridge on the River Kwai. _

P.S.: This will no doubt disappoint you, but I wasn't quite as weird as you must be thinking: Siegfried was rubber.

* * *

Malcolm relaxed back into his chair and smiled smugly to himself, picturing Trip's expression when he read his message. Who would have said that old Siegfried still had some use, after all this time…

Time.

Malcolm's smile fell. Yes, perhaps it was time.

With a deep breath he sat up again. Hands poised over the keyboard, he gathered his thoughts and courage; then began to type.

"Dear father…"

THE END


End file.
